


Auburn

by Lemon_compass



Category: History - Fandom, OC - Fandom
Genre: 18th Century, 19th Century, AmRev, America, American Revolution, Bi, Bisexual, Britain, British, British Character, Couple, England (Country), England - Freeform, France - Freeform, French Characters, Gay, Georgian Period, Homosexual, Lesbian, Multi, OC, Original Character - Freeform, Original Character(s), Queer History, Revolution, mlm, straight - Freeform, wlm, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_compass/pseuds/Lemon_compass
Summary: The life of British Brigadier-General, Abraham Wilson.For more information/artworks of this character feel free to check out my Instagram @Lemon.Compass !Trigger Warnings will apply,
Kudos: 1





	1. Beginnings

October 8th, 1750

Alice sat in her chair while looking out the large bay window in the Livingroom, her tired eyes focused on the gloomy October day. Whilst sitting in the lonely rocking chair, she heard whimpering and looked down at her week-old son, Abraham in her arms. Tenderly, she stroked his hair and hushed him. 

"What's wrong?" Alice asked softly, kissing his small forehead as he scrunched his face. His angry face made her laugh quietly. She lightly poked his small nose which made him whine more. "Oh stop that." She smiled. 

Clement entered the room, looking at his mother while holding a plate with a teacup on it for her. "Are you feeling any better?" He asked.

She jumped slightly, startled. Alice looked over her shoulder to see her eldest son in the doorway. "Clement." She said. 

"I'm sorry, did I scare you?" Asked the twenty-four-year-old. He set the plate down on an end table by the chair. Bringing her the cup and handing it to Alice. 

"Thank you.. and no, you didn't," Alice replied, taking the warm cup into her frail hands. "You are such a dear, Clement."

Clement grinned, pulling a chair over to sit with her. "What are you looking at, mama?" he questioned, looking at the boring backyard of the estate. The dying grass went on for miles until it touched the distant tree line of the surrounding forest.

"Abraham likes the window.." She whispered, seeing the baby had fallen asleep. Abraham's head was slumped over and smushed against his mother's chest.

He peeked over at his baby brother, smiling. "Is he behaving?" Clement joked, reaching out and poking Abraham's small foot. "He seems pretty rambunctious." They spoke, sarcasm in his tone.

"Don't bug him, he just fell asleep!" Alice said, tucking the blanket over Abraham's little legs and bouncing her baby boy. "You're not rambunctious, no, no. You're my sweet little boy.." she mumbled.

Calmly smiling at his mother, Clement turned his head to look back out the window. Seeing as a carriage road passed, recognizing the beaten wooden frame of it instantly and rising from his seat. He approached the window to double-check, his eyes squinted slightly as he peered at the driver.

George Inn.

The sight of the man made Clement's heart soften, he turned back to his mother. "I'll return this evening." He stated.

"Where are you going?" She asked, holding a sleeping Abraham in her arms within a warm blanket. 

"Me and George are going to go fishing," Clement replied while entering the other room to grab his satchel off the hook in the kitchen wall. Seeing his brother Giles playing cards with their sister Felice. Giles was fourteen, quite big for his age with scruffy brown hair and fair skin. While Felice was just as fair with long golden-brown colored hair, tied into a ribbon. She was twenty-seven, the third oldest of all twelve Wilson children. 

Giles looked to the side as he heard Clement behind him. "Yeah 'fishing'." Giles laughed while laying down his cards on their table. "I win."

Felice huffed through her nose. "again!"

Clement laughed at his siblings. "What are you playing?" He asked, leaning over the table to look down at the two of them. Seeing they were marking score on a piece of paper next to Felice, Giles had won the last six rounds.

"Stupid game Giles made up! And he's cheating." Felice said, despite trying to sound angry she had a smirk on her face.

"Not cheating, you're just bad," Giles replied smugly, shuffling the cards in his hands.

Clement grinned. "I'll leave you two to that then." He spoke, before walking into the Livingroom beside Alice. He leaned down to kiss his mother on the head. "I'll be home before dark, mama."

Alice smiled softly. "Stay safe." She replied.

"I will."

And with that, Clement was off out the door quickly. He basically ran to George's carriage now parked outside of the estate, sprinting towards George at the last minute to hug him. George smiled at Clement, returning the embrace. George was a large scruffy man, having a beer gut with sideburns incasing his broad face. The two remained close together for a moment before Clement pulled away, holding onto George's hands.

"You haven't been by here in so long, where have you been?" Clement asked, looking up at George joyfully. 

George glanced down towards Clement, his face tinted red slightly. "I was planning my there visit to my lil' sister over in uhh. Y'know that place--France." He said, his voice was raspy and slightly slurred. 

Clement hooked arms with George and walked towards the carriage. "You have a sister?" he questioned as they walked alongside each other,

"Mmhm." He hummed, picking Clement up by the sides and lifting him into the carriage before climbing in after him. "She.. way over there y'know. France, like I just said. She's far off."

"Is she nice?" Asked Clement.

George raised an eyebrow. "You're askin' lot of questions, she isn' really a bushell bubby if that's what yer lookin' for.. she kinda looks like your old man's left-handed wife there, Patience."

Clement frowned, knowing by Patience he meant his father's mistress whom he had a child with four years prior. "You know George, I think if you drank less you would make more sense to other people. Because sometimes even I have absolutely no idea what you're telling me."

George laughed, snorting a bit as he did. "I haven't even drank nothin' today!" He said, "Honestly, I am as sober as a double lank sleever man."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a new one."

"Man who ain't got no arms." George said, "Ya get it 'cause their arms do the y'know, dangle sleeves." George wriggled around while flopping his arms.

"That's not nice!" Clement smacked George's arm playfully. 

He continued to laugh, grabbing the reigns to the horses attached to the carriage. "Giddyup!" He yelled at the large workhorse, jerking at the reigns. The animal moved down the dirt pathway, dragging the carriage along with it. 

During their small journey to the cottage a few hours away, the crisp wind made Clement's skin feel as if it were ice. He pulled his jacket on tighter and leaned against George, feeling how warm George was compared to himself. Clement scooted closer to the man and shoved his head under George's arm to rest his head against his chest.

"What are ya doin'?" George laughed, using one hand to hold the reigns while wrapping his other arm around Clement, running his large hands up and down the other man's back. 

Clement glanced up to George. "I'm bloody freezing!" he replied. "How are you not cold?"

He stopped the horse, yanking the reigns back until it stopped. George stepped out of the carriage and went around to the back, lifting the small door to prevent luggage from falling out. He grabbed a wool blanket, stepping back into the carriage after shutting the door and wrapping Clement in the warm blanket. 

"Better?" He asked, looking down at Clement who curled himself up into the wool. Clement nodded a bit and leaned back against George, shutting his eyes. He could feel the carriage begin to move as George silently stroked Clement's curly hair. "Goodnight, Sweetheart." He whispered, thinking Clement had fallen asleep.

Clement ended up actually falling asleep moments later, sleeping throughout the slightly bumpy ride. George tried to keep the carriage still so he could rest, occasionally looking down at Clement whose face was pressed against his stomach as he slept. 

Upon reaching the cottage, George stepped out and took Clement into his arms after tying the horse to a post. He held Clement in the blanket, the smaller man stirring as George carried him towards the cottage. Clement looked up at him, smiling softly. George noticed Clement's gaze and looked down at him.

"Goodmornin' sleepyhead, did ya have a nice rest?" He asked, setting Clement down on the porch and taking the blanket off to set it inside the cottage. 

Clement nodded, rubbing his eyes a bit before taking George's hand into his. "When are you going to go see your sister?"

"Gon' pack my carriage full of my things an' things she need y'know. And then I'm gon' head up there to her there uh. Boarding school or whatever they called." He replied, pulling on the heavy unmoving door until it swung open with a crack. "Damn bastard freezes every bloody time I gott' open it." George stepped inside and beat his feet against the rug to prevent tracking mud, holding the door open for Clement.

Clement stepped into the dim cottage, looking around. "So you said there is a lake nearby?" He asked, standing to the side so George could shut the door.

"Mm," George muttered, locking it shut. "Yeah but I only got uh, one pole." 

"Oh," Clement said.

"Did you bring one?" George cocked an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder as the door locked. "Y'know, like I told you too."

Clement shook his head, his short curly brown hair bouncing slightly. "I didn't, sorry."

He stood straight, turning back around to look down at Clement again. "That's alright." he patted Clement on the head. "I'm sure we can take turns or somethin', no need to yowl over that."

Clement followed after George as he walked around the cottage, it was dark and musty inside of the small space. "So, how long has your family owned this?"

"Well, used to be my there father Abner's and my mam's tailor shop, but.." his voice trailed. George averted his eyes to the floor as Clement turned around to look up at him.

"But?" Clement asked.

George shrugged. "She died a while ago, nhhm. I never told you 'cause I didn't think you'd care. But my father hasn't been doin' too great so. I'm takin' over the shop. It was like, years ago before I even knew you so it don't matter but-"

Clement interrupted. "That's sad." He stated. "I don't know what I would do if my mama died."

He looked away in the discomfort from the topic. "Yeah-uh. How 'bout we go down to the lake now." Suggested George, pointing at the backdoor. 

After about two hours down at the lake, the two headed back into the cottage to put the pole and bait back away. George set the pole onto the shelf as Clement sat on the bed behind him. "I suppose you will take me home soon?"

"Yeah. I gotta. Get back to my house now. Check on my father an' prepared to go visit Noémie." George shoved the pole onto the shelf. Before turning around to face the other man in the room.

"Noémie?"

"My sister," George said, walking towards Clement and sitting by him. 

Clement nodded in understanding, putting his hand over George's that was rested on his lap. "Maybe I can come too? A nice little trip for the two of us." 

George smirked a bit. "I don' see a problem with that as long as you don't bother my there sister, she can be real mean." 

"You're mean too, George. Maybe the meanest man I know." Clement joked, scooting closer to George. 

He laughed. "Am I?" Asked George, leaning toward Clement so their faces were just inches apart.

Clement blushed and nodded, standing up and taking his coat off as George raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't think we should leave yet," Clement stated.

"And what do you suggest we do here if we aren't fishing, there not much else," George replied, leaning back onto the scratchy blanket laid across the bed. 

"Something involving fewer clothes perhaps?" He proposed as he unbuttoned his undershirt.

George snorted. "You are so corny." He laughed, sitting back up. "C'mere." George made a motion with his hands as he told Clement to come to him.

Clement walked to George, watching George wrap his arms around his waist and pull Clement into his lap. Clement smiled down at George as he sat in the man's embrace, the two pressed their foreheads together for a moment before their lips connected. George leaning back on the bed and bringing Clement down with him.

"Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?" Clement asked George, unbuttoning George's shirt as he did so. 

George eyed Clement's nimble hands, before looking back to him. "I know a particular man who lets me know all the time without even sayin' it."

"And who would that be?" Clement smirked. 

"Oh, I think you know."

Back at the Wilson's estate, four-year-old Margaret and three-year-old Mercy stood by Abraham's bassinet as he slept. Looking at the small child's relaxed face as he slept, Mercy's mother Patience entered the nursery to see the two girls. It brought a smile to her face to see the two girls close, despite having different mothers. She knew they didn't understand that yet.

"What are you two up to?" Patience asked, her voice warm. She had satin skin, with fair ginger hair. 

Mercy looked back at her mother, smiling and running towards her. She clung to her mom's leg. Patience softly giggled, patting her hair. 

"We are looking at the baby." Margaret pointed at Abraham. "He sleepin."

Patience walked towards her. "He is.." She stated, looking down at Abraham. "You two shouldn't be in here, let him sleep."

Both girls ran off together as Patience stood by the bassinet, she averted her eyes down at the peacefully sleeping Abraham. She felt as if she didn't belong there. The dirty looks from Alice and her children pained Patience, it was as if they thought she had a choice. Patience turned her back to the door, her hands rested on the edge of the baby's bed. She lifted her head as she watched the light from the hallway enter the bed and shine upon the wall, looking over her shoulder.

"What are you doing in here." A deep voice said she recognized it as the father of the house. Richard Wilson. The pedophilic, cruel, horrid priest. Who she had gone to three years ago for his assistance after her first husband had died. Robert Winchester, and then Patience Winchester had gone to Richard's church for years. So when Robert died, Patience trusted the once kind Church owner. She went to him in her time of need which was perhaps the biggest mistake she had made. 

She paused, feeling the hair on her neck stand as she faced Richard. "Abraham was crying." She lied. "I came to check on him."

Richard furrowed his eyebrows, his deep blue eyes looked directly through Patience. "I didn't hear him," he stated. 

"I- He was!" she insisted. "I was walking past and--and I heard him because he was crying." Patience stumbled over words as she put her excuses together.

"Do you take me as a liar?" He asked, his large figure covered the doorway. The light from the hallway around him as his shadow projected onto the wooden floor.

Patience looked down, adjusting her hair. "no. No, I don't, I'm sorry."

"So why are you in here." Richard walked towards her, he towered over the petite woman. 

She shook as she hugged herself, Patience looked upwards at Richard. "I... The girls were bothering Abraham as he rested.. So I came in here. And-"

Richard leaned over till his face was near hers. "So you lied to me." He said, not as a question but as a statement.

Patience began to cry. "I'm sorry, Richard." Muttered Patience with a trembling bottom lip, sniffling as he brought up his arm to strike her.

Felice sat with Alice in her parent's bedroom, helping Alice drink some water after she had woken from her sleep. The water came from a fresh stream near the estate, it was right next to the tree line and went on for miles. They remained in silence as Alice sipped from her glass, her eyes narrowed with sleep. Alice noticed her daughter's hands tremble as Patience screamed from down the hall, the two said nothing. But shared a look of knowing. Once the cup showed empty, Felice stood up and silently left the room to bring the cup back into the kitchen. Seeing Giles was now playing with their brother Matthew. Eight-year-old Matthew was very close to their father, and Richard actually somewhat was kind to the boy. It brought Felice horror to know he may grow up to be just like the man, knowing it was inescapable. The beautiful, young, and unmarried Felice only remained in such a manor because Richard wanted her to care for her ailing mother so that he did not have to. 

"Do you want to place with us, Fe-Fe?" A voice said from behind her, she turned to Giles and Matthew who were both looking up at her while sitting at the table.

She shook her head, politely declining the offer and returning to Alice's side. "Did you hear that Mr. Acker and sister are coming to visit, with Richard? Isn't that exciting?' Felice asked her mother as she folded the laundry rested it on the dresser.

Alice glanced at her daughter. "I didn't.." She replied. "Have you been writing to Rose? How is she?"

Rose was the second oldest child, marrying two years prior to Edward Acker. Now having a son named Richard, despite Rose's blindness she was a very good mother to her son. And a good wife according to Edward. They were so happy, Felice wished she had a man to hold and love her in such a way as Edward held her dearest sister. But she knew it never could be such away. 

"She's well," Felice replied. "I will tell her you are excited for her arrival.. she is going to come over after Church this Sunday."

Alice shut her eyes, having fallen asleep during their conversation. Felice noticed a lack of a reply, turning her head to see her sleeping mother. The only time she looked at peace was when she was asleep, Felice quietly approached and slid the blanket up to her shoulders. Leaning down to kiss her mother on the cheek before leaving the room.


	2. The Twelfth Wilson Child

October 8th, 1750

As George and Clement returned home from their visit to George's cottage, Clement hastily walked into his mother's bedroom to check on her. Seeing she had fallen asleep during their brief outing. 

George quietly followed from behind. "Oi," He whispered. "I'm gon' go back home." 

Clement looked behind him, glancing up to George and nodding. "okay.." he said quietly. "You will come again soon, yes?"

"Yeah." He smiled, taking Clement's hand for a moment to kiss the back of it before he left the room. Clement stood in the silent room, looking at the back of his hand with a tender gaze.

June 12th, 1755

Four-year-old Abraham sat on his family's porch, overlooking the long fields that seemed to go on forever as the grass gently danced in the wind. The young boy was bewitched by the appearance of the field. It seemed to sway as if it was a couple dancing in the ballroom, Abraham smiled slightly. He heard the door behind him open, turning to look behind him as he sat on the edge of the porch. It was Georges and Gabriel, talking among themselves while dressed in their wigs and fancy clothing. They were Patience's sons from her previous marriage, Gabriel was sixteen, Georges was fourteen. Both boys often went out to social parties that were being held nearby their home in London. Gabriel seemed to notice Abraham sitting there, but didn't speak to the boy. He watched as they walked down a pathway that wrapped around their large estate and went through the woods, his eyes narrowed as the two boys strolled out of view and into the woods that separated their home from the neighbors home. Augustus O'Brian and his wife Harriet lived on the other side, Abraham was close to their youngest child Cephes who was just four days younger than Abraham.

"Abraham." A soft voice said from the door as it quietly creaked, his mother stood there. He excitedly stood up, running over to his mom and smiling up towards her.

"yes?" Abraham asked politely, dimples on his cheeks. He adored his sweet, caring mother. She always was kind and good to him and everyone she interacted with. While his father was cold and hostile frequently.

Alice stroked her son's hair, looking down at him. "Your brother Clement is going for a walk with George, do you want to go with them?" She asked. "They said you could go."

Clement was Alice's oldest son, he was twenty-four whole years older than Abraham. Abraham adored his brother, he quickly nodded at the offer and ran past her to find Clement and George at the table. Drinking something. George Inn was Clement's best friend, a year older than him. "Hey."

"Your father is beau-nasty.." George muttered with his drink to his lips, before taking a drink. "Bacon-faced bastard."

"Language." Clement quickly said, covering the young Abraham's small ears as Abraham focused on the cup. Marveling his eyes at the yellowish unfamiliar liquid inside of it, used to drinking water from the stream between their home and the O'Brian's home.

"My apologies," George said, grinning with his yellowish teeth as he sarcastically apologized. The two boys laughed lightly for a moment. Before George took another drink and spoke once more. "So, what's with the marriage music in your home Clem'. That zad father of yours got his sugar stick all up in your mumsy again?"

Clement rolled his eyes at the frequent slang his friend used, scoffing. "Must you be so crude in front of my brother?"

Uneducated George sat back in his chair, his pants had three buttons and Abraham noticed the top one was undone, pointing at it silently. "Good God you gotta just remind me I'm fat eh, Abe? My pants don't fit boy."

Abraham looked shy as he hid his face in Clement's chest, thinking he did something wrong. Clement rubbed Abraham's back. "You're scaring him."

"How? I didn't do nothin'. Little pansy that one." He replied, pointing at Abraham who was still hiding against Clement.

Clement looked offended. "He is four! Give him a break." The two bickered for a moment like they always did, before George's wife Phoebe walked in. Her thin frame and large chest very in the view from her clothing option, it was how she usually dressed. As she walked past and outside of the home once telling George she was going to return to their house. Clement said. "God, some wench of a wife you got, rude, and ugly."

"At least I got a wife you lonely buzzard," George said with a gravelly laugh as he finished his drink before reaching across the table to take Clement's half-empty cup. "Y'know one of these days they're gon' shove a fagger right into your window and steal your daddy's money."

"We will not get robbed by a stupid little boy and some antiquated rouges," Clement responded, Abraham knew they were talking about the homes nearby that had been robbed recently by a supposed ex-thief and his son. He anxiously put his thumb in his mouth, curled up to Clement as George rose from his seat. Stretching his arms up as he yawned and then grunted as they came back down. "Shall we leave? Or are you too drunk now?"

"Oh shut it, I just appreciate my English manufacture unlike you," George said, his hand on his round stomach, patting it as if to brag about his alcohol issue. "That's why we gon' go on a little stroll, so I won't be as plump."

Clement nodded, setting his hat on his head as they approached the door. Holding Abraham in his arms. Abraham hugged around Clement's neck, smiling slightly, enjoying being held. The two men continued speaking as they walked through the woods and eventually off the path. 

"Are we still gonna?" George muttered, eyeing Clement as he motioned his hands in an odd way that Abraham did not understand.

Clement bit his lip slightly with thought, looking around at the bare woods. "We have to be quick," Clement replied.

Abraham was set down by a tree by Clement, he told Abraham to remain there and he and George walked slightly further into the woods. After about five minutes, Abraham got frightened. What if there were wolves? Or some strange beast in the woods who ate young boys like himself? He stepped over the branches along the tree floor while looking for Clement. He found the friends sitting by a tree, Clement sat in George's lap, neither man had shirts on. Only their breeches and boots. Abraham stared for a moment, confused on why his brother and George were kissing each other like how a man would kiss his wife. When he noticed George's eye open and look past Clement and directly at Abraham, Abraham stood behind a tree. He looked up at Clement as Clement redressed himself properly and went over to Abraham.

"I told you to stay!" He said, putting his hands on his hips as he looked down at the small boy.

Abraham gave him a guilty expression, twiddling his thumbs and looking down shamefully. "I got scared." He mumbled in a small voice.

Clement sighed, picking Abraham back up. "Okay, it's okay." He said quietly to show Abraham he wasn't angry with him. "How about, we play a little game, okay?" After that, Abraham vigorously nodded as he was held up by his brother. "Great, how about. You see how long you can not tell dad about this."

"That doesn't sound very fun.." Abraham mumbled, expecting a more exciting game as he watched George stand and put his undershirt back on, buttoning it.

Clement's face showed slight distress. "It's sooo fun, I've played it hundreds of times. The only rule is don't tell anyone about this and you win!"

Abraham showed boredom and disappointment in his expression. "Okay."

"So you won't tell?" Abraham shrugged. Clement grunted. "You CAN'T tell, Abe!" He yelled, "Please!" Clement squeezed Abraham silently in his anxious state, not noticing he was digging his fingernails into Abraham's sides while holding him up.

The young boy showed distress as he was tightly held and being yelled at by the sibling he was closest to. "Okay-" he whimpered, stuttering slightly as he stared fearfully at Clement. Clement's face showed anxiety, then calmed as he sighed, loosening his grasp on the young boy's torso and setting him down.

"Good." Clement smiled, his hands on his hips as he turned to look at George who was buttoning the last button on his vest.

Abraham felt tears well in his eyes after being yelled at, hiccupping slightly. Which Clement seemed to hear, his head turning to look at Abraham.

"Oh- no, no, no- Don't cry!" Clement gasped, trying to console Abraham by hugging him but Abraham flinched away and took off. He ran deeper into the woods. "ABRAHAM!" Clement yelled after him as Abraham ran off, wearing just his shoes and a small dress meant for children his age, similar to a nightgown. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Clement exclaimed, pulling his short curly hair a bit in stress before he ran after Abraham.

George quickly followed his friend, trying to comfort him. "Aye, it'll be all good Clem'. We gon' find him."

"HE'S LIKE THREE FEET TALL AND THESE TREES ARE GIGANTIC!" Clement said. "WHAT IF HE CLIMBS ONE?"

"Clement, you gotta calm down," George said, putting his hand on Clement's shoulder to stop him. "You're a good brother to worry but freakin' and cryin' ain't going to help ya look, now is it?" He asked, setting his big hands onto Clement's face. Tears rolled down Clement's cheeks, which George gently wiped away with his thumbs.

"No.." Clement whispered softly, putting his hands on George's wrists as he tenderly held his face.

George nodded a bit, kissing Clement's temple softly which made the other man smile. "Now," he stated. "He went this way, and likely continued to er runnin' straight, so let's walk that way," he said, not using slang as he knew how upset Clement was and didn't want to cause him more distress. Staying collected and calm for his lover's emotional state.

Clement sniffled as he and George walked, George's hand softly rubbing his back. "I scared him off.."

"It happens, this road is all jumble-gutted. I doubt he would've gotten far with 'em little legs of his." George spoke, letting Clement lightly lean onto him as they continued walking.

Abraham hadn't gone far, sitting in front of a tree about thirty feet from their original spot. "There ya are, bringing your brother an awfully good fright, looked like a clod from the country for a moment there. You gon' get yourself nabbed up if you runnin' off from your brother." George said.

Abraham put his arms up, George gave him a confused look. "He wants you to pick him up, he doesn't like walking," Clement muttered, still teary-eyed and soft-spoken.

George put his arms under Abraham's arms and picked him up to his chest, Abraham smiled at the stout man, half asleep as it was getting later in the evening. "We gon' go watch the frogs talk about their French mumbo-jumbo down in the city. But we gotta get my carriage first."

"Are we still going? At this hour?" Clement questioned, looking at George.

"Well I assumed so, I gotta go buy some of that rot-gut, cheap booze down at the market that's right by frog-central," George said. "Those dingy men think they're dressed to the nines or somethin' I swear, they all look ridiculous."

Abraham looked up at George as they returned to the main path. "Frog..?" He asked softly, he loved frogs, those little slimy creatures that usually lingered about the pond near their home always fascinated.

"Yeah, frogs, those cracked up frogs down at the market they just love to swarm about and bicker of their nonsense." He said. "Complaining about this, and that, why don't you go back to France if you don't like it here. Stupid things."

"You know our half brothers are French, yes?" Clement asked, talking about Georges and Gilbert. "and you are French!"

George glanced at him with his dark brown eyes, nodding. "Trust me, I know." He said. "They're rude too, every frog, including me. Is rude, and ugly, and crooked."

"Nuh-uh!" Abraham said. "Frogs are cute."

George shook his head. "I don' know who told ya that Abe but they're a dirty buggin' liar straight to your face, boy. They're selfish greedy things."

Abraham pouted, hitting George on the chest with his small fist. Angry that he was insulting the little amphibious creatures. "They didn't do anything to you!" Abraham said.

"God I didn't know you loved the French so much!" George teased, knowing Abraham didn't understand. He pinched Abraham's side, which made Abraham scream as if it hurt even though it didn't. The boy flailed and cried, acting as if he was being kidnapped or murdered. "Oh shut your trap-"

Clement took Abraham from George. "You're so mean to him." Clement huffed, patting Abraham's hair.

George made a hearty laugh to himself as they walked, before holding Clement's hand while they were still alone in the woods. Happy to be with him, and not with his wife at the moment. He didn't overly like Phoebe, she was rude to not only him, but everyone. They had been forcibly married after Phoebe lied about being pregnant and it was blamed on George. But, his moments he spent with Clement made him feel less alone, and happier.

Upon reaching his home, a brown house considerably smaller than Abraham and Clement's. George leads the two to the run-down carriage on the side of the house. Clement set Abraham into the back seat, Abraham whining as he got put down. 

"Shush." Clement chuckled, George, lifting him and setting him into the carriage. George walked off out of sight as Clement and Abraham sat in the carriage.

Abraham tugged Clement's sleeve, pointing at where George had gone.

Clement peered over in the direction, smiling. "He's just getting the horse, he is coming back." He assured young Abraham.

He looked up at his brother with his deep green eyes, blinking curiously before staring intently at the corner of the house which George had turned away at. Not hearing as George came up behind the carriage, the large workhorse trotting behind him. George grabbed Abraham's side to scare the very focused boy, Abraham shrieked as he did which made George snort.

Abraham hugged on to Clement, crying obnoxiously, "Oh, Abe." Clement laughed, rubbing the boy's back. "George you're so mean, look at what you did!" Clement said as he chuckled lightly.

"Whoops." George grinned, getting into the driver's seat after attaching his horse to the carriage. "Ready to go y'all?" 

Clement nodded as George turned back to jerk at the reigns, the carriage began to move, wobbling around as it did. The brothers remained quiet while George steered the horse along the road.

Once they reached the city, they remained in the carriage as the street was filled with people around them. Abraham gripped onto his brother as people both on foot and other carriages rushed past in the London streets, their slow ride came to a halt as people walked in the way. George grumbled, reaching into the bag on the seat next to him. Abraham peered over the edge of George's seat curiously, watching him hold a horn to his lips and blow into it which made a loud honking noise. It startled the people in front of them, who moved while looking judgmentally at George.

George had a smug grin as Clement awkwardly hid his face. "Really?" Clement said. "You had to do that?"

"They were in my way! Lookin' like buncha pheasants." George replied as the carriage moved once more. Abraham crawled to the edge of the seat to look over the edge of the carriage at the people down below, this carriage wasn't nearly as fancy as his fathers. Richard's was bigger and had doors, while George's was open-sided with a slight ledge to stop you from falling out. 

"Are you poor?" Abraham asked curiously, turning his head to look at George.

George choked on air, whipping around to look at Abraham with a slightly aghast face. Before huffing. Not responding.

"Abraham!" Abraham's older brother gasped next to him, smacking Abraham on the arm lightly. "Very rude! Say you're sorry to Mr. Inn."

The four-year-old sat closer to Clement, looking down. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, becoming teary-eyed as he was shunned for his rude behavior. 

The rest of the ride was quiet as George stopped the carriage in front of the St. Paul's Cathedral, George stepped off his seat and helped the other two out. They walked hand-in-hand inside the large building quietly. Abraham looked up at the towering ceilings, now Abraham was impressed. The massive building put his father's hometown church to shame, he had never seen such a large building in his entire life in fact. Abraham continued to gaze about the building with amazement as George and Clement spoke quietly to themselves in the near-empty cathedral. 

"Why did you bring us here.." Clement whispered softly, feeling George's thumbs gently rub his knuckles. Looking over as Abraham ran about the benches, looking under them curiously. 

George gently set his hand onto Clement's hand, turning Clement to face him once more. "It's as beautiful.. uh. As you are. I wanted to bring you over here when I, knew nobody else uh. Would be 'round about." He said, attempting to be romantic.

Clement's face flushed softly, setting his hands onto George's face. The two held one another close and gently kissed one another in the silent cathedral. Abraham turned to look at Clement, blinking a few times as they showed each other tender affection.


	3. Boaz

February 19th, 1755

It was late in the year of seventeen fifty-four, just after Christmas when Clement married Noémie Inn, George's younger sister. Having married her shortly after his fifth visit to France, he had brought her back with him without telling George. Abraham hadn't seen George since the week before the wedding when he and Clement got into a heated argument outside the home once Clement told George about the engagement. Two months after New Years', Alexander Wilson was born.

Abraham first met his nephew when Alexander was two weeks old, it was early April when Clement came by Richard's estate without Noémie. But he had little Alexander with him. Clement had only come to get a few of his belongings and to say hello to Alice. Abraham peered into the Livingroom as his mother and brother spoke, Clement noticed Abraham watching and waved him into the room. Which Abraham cautiously did, approaching his brother who was sat in a chair. The small baby in his arms. They looked just like his sister Joan did when she was born two years ago. Alexander scrunched his small nose as Abraham stared down at him, the infant wasn't used to people being so close that weren't his parents. So he began to cry. The crying startled Abraham, who ran over to Alice and hid behind her chair.

Alice chuckled. "Abraham." She said softly. She turned in her seat to look at her son. "It's okay, Abraham." She slid her arms under his armpits and lifted him into her lap as Clement hushed Alexander. Alice glanced at her eldest child, smiling.

"Is something the matter?" Clement asked.

"I remember when your sister Rose was born, and you hit her the second you saw her. Now, look at you." Alice reminisced.

Clement huffed slightly. "I tapped her, I did not hit her." He said. "and I was four!"

She laughed, her smile turned into a look of slight concern. "You haven't been talking about Mr. Inn lately, and he was not at the wedding."

Clement frowned, averting his eyes. "George and I had a bit of an.. argument you could say." He explained. "I'm sure he'll come around. But right now we are not speaking."

"Oh," Alice muttered. "Well.. I'd imagine he is quite hurt."

"What do you mean?" Clement asked, looking back at her with confusion.

Alice gave her son a look of knowing. "You know what I mean, Clement." She replied, setting Abraham on the floor and patting his back as a signal for him to leave.

Abraham looked up to his mom, before running off out of the room to go find his brother Charlie. 

She smiled at Abraham before her expression stiffened as she rested her hands on her lap. "You and George, it's very obvious you were closer than friends. Men who are friends usually do not get all giddy when one lifts the other into their carriage, or when-"

"Okay, okay!" Clement interrupted, his face becoming flustered. "You're right. George isn't. Exactly happy with me." he said, looking around the room to make sure nobody was around. "he.. expected me to stay unmarried forever and be with him."

Alice picked up her knitting which sat on the end table by her chair. She continued the shirt she had started to make the day prior as Clement spoke.

"I just don't know why it bothers him so much, because he is married and if he's married then don't I have the right to get married as well? Doesn't he want me to be happy?" Clement began to vent, subconsciously patting Alexander's short hair as the baby yawned. "And I got her pregnant, if I didn't marry her she would have been all alone."

Alice quietly hummed before replying. "Well, you snuck to France without him, got married the week you got back without telling him until the last minute.."

Clement sighed loudly, rubbing his temples with one hand. "I guess."

"No, not 'I guess', that is what you did." She stated.

Clement tensed defensively, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know what I did, you don't have to remind me." He said. "But I just don't know his problem."

Alice looked to her son, "I just told you his problem." She replied.

"I know!" he raised his voice at his mother, before relaxing and muttering an apology.

She didn't look up from her knitting this time, "It's alright." She accepted his apology. "Don't yell at me though. I'm very unimpressed with how you are acting, it is very selfish how much empathy you lack for poor Mr. Inn."

"You don't have to call him that, his name is George," said Clement.

"I know his name. Do not give me attitude, Clement." Alice quickly snapped, setting her knitting back onto the table. "If you did this to your father he would be absolutely furious."

Clement grumbled, standing up. "You wouldn't understand how I feel, you haven't loved anyone." He stated harshly. Alice seemed appalled at the statement. Clement quickly became apologetic, stepping closer to his mother. "I'm sorry, mama." He sheepishly said with regret.

Alice turned her head, her face saddened. "Just... Just go home, Clement."

"I know you didn't want to marry father I'm sorry, mama--I shouldn't have said that." He tried to apologize.

She furrowed her eyebrows, sniffling. "Leave!" She insisted. "Just go!"

Clement sadly looked down at her, her face seemed slightly distressed. Regret filled him as he left, going outside to his horse. Clement held his son in his arm as he steered the horse with one hand, swiftly leaving the estate.

Giles entered the Livingroom after he heard the conversation, looking at his now crying mother who sat alone in her chair. The sixteen-year-old walked to her, wrapping his arms around her. Alice gasped, startled. She opened her teary eyes to see Giles, smiling sadly and returning the hug.

"I'm okay, Giles." She said quietly, "You're such a sweet boy."

Giles pulled from the hug, his hands on her shoulders. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked. "You're crying." Giles put his hands onto her face, rubbing under her eyes with his thumbs.

Alice set her hand on top of Giles'. "I'm okay, honey."

"Okay." He replied. "I have to go do my chores, but I will check on you when I am done."

Before Alice could speak, Giles walked out of the room to go do his chores. She sighed and continued to knit.

Abraham was in his room, drawing on some paper he had gotten from his older sister Margaret's room. Ink dripped onto the floor as Abraham retrieved his quill from it, he was trying to mimic a painting from the drawing-room. It was a portrait of a younger Richard alongside his first wife, Isabella. Who he tenderly called 'His Belle' whenever speaking of her. Isabella was the mother of the eldest Wilson children, Isabel and Mary. Richard had married her at fifteen while Isabella was fourteen, she was the only woman who Richard ever seemed to speak kindly of. Often he would compare both Alice and Patience to her, and also Isabel and Mary. Isabella had a kind face, with brown hair and soft eyes. The woman had died when Isabel was three and Mary was two days old, dying of a birthing fever in seventeen nineteen. Isabel had told the children before how Richard was a good father before she died, a good man who was bettering himself after prior horrid behavior with his youth. With her death, he became "corrupt, bitter, and all things that bring dread" as Isabel described. Everyone within the family was curious in one way or another what Richard was like during his childhood, was he a good man? Or had he always been like this? Even Isabel did not know. All of Richard's siblings were dead, and so were his parents. His last sibling, Geoffrey had died two years before. Which left every question they may have had, unanswered for eternity.

Abraham looked at his drawing, feeling proud of himself. In his eyes, the two portraits were identical. Even if he was just sloppy blue ink, and the other was professional. Abraham heard the door behind him, it creaked open quietly as his half-sister Mercy entered the room.

"Hello." Mercy said, she was six while Abraham was four. She would turn seven in the following month of May. "What are you two doing."

Abraham looked at Charlie, who was smacking his ink-covered hands onto a piece of paper. "We're becoming artists," Abraham replied with a smug face.

She blinked a few times. "Okay." She stated, not arguing with him. "Charlie's two, and ink will stain his clothes. Make sure he does not eat it or get it on his hands."

Abraham nodded, watching his half-sister leave. He crawled across the floor to Charlie, sitting by him quietly. He watched Charlie for a moment, before yanking the paper from him. Charlie appeared stunned for a moment, beginning to cry and attempt to grab the paper from Abraham.

"You can't have it 'cause you'll eat it!" Abraham yelled, lifting the paper above his head.

Charlie smacked his inky hand onto Abraham's face, huffing angrily. He couldn't speak yet, so he continued to make angry toddler noises at his brother. Abraham bit Charlie's hand, which made Charlie shriek and use his other hand to start whacking Abraham on the head. Abraham stopped biting, using his foot to push Charlie away.

"YOU CAN'T HAVE IT MERCY SAID SO." He screamed.

Their sister Elizabeth walked in, the eighteen-year-old looked at the boys with confusion. "What is going on?"

Abraham's face was covered in ink, his foot pushing Charlie away as Charlie screamed, his face red with anger. "Charlie's trying to eat the ink," Abraham said.

Mercy walked in after Elizabeth. "I didn't say he was trying to, I said make sure he doesn't!'

Abraham paused, suddenly realizing that's what she meant. "Oohh." He muttered. Abraham handed the paper back to the child, Charlie snatching it. Charlie sniffled as he held his paper protectively, hugging it to his chest. Which in turn smeared the ink all over his white nightgown.

Elizabeth laughed lightly, going over to Abraham. "You two need a bath." She said. "And maybe next time you should not be playing with ink. It's very messy for little boys like you."

The four-year-old smiled as she lifted him into her arms, Elizabeth held Abraham with one arm and young paper-wielding Charlie in the other. Charlie gave Abraham the stink-eye as they were carried to the yard. Elizabeth set the boys onto the porch, telling them to stay before she walked to their shed. The woman brought the copper tub to the boys, setting it beside them on the porch. Charlie looked inside the tub, cooing to himself as Elizabeth got a bucket of water from the well. She poured the water into the tub, the water splashed onto Charlie's face as he peered into the tub. Charlie backed away, shaking his head.

"Aoough!" Charlie cried, wiping his face with his small hands after he was splashed with water.

Abraham snorted, looking at Charlie as he rubbed his face. Elizabeth got the boys undressed and into the tub, scrubbing them down with a sponge. Abraham remained unbothered until she pressed the sponge onto his ink-stained face. Abraham grumbled as she roughly scrubbed his face.

"Abraham doesn't squirm unless you want a blue face forever." She laughed as Abraham wriggled around. "You will look like a blueberry."

He continued to whine while having his face cleaned off. Elizabeth eventually got the ink off of her brother, drying them off with a towel and redressing them in their bedroom. Elizabeth changed their bedsheets before bed as the sunset, the two boys watching her intently. Abraham and Charlie had shared a room since Charlie was born, the two often were seen together due to being close in age. Elizabeth peered over her shoulder, seeing them eyeing her.

"Can I help you two?" She asked, smiling. "It is almost your bedtime."

Abraham looked at Charlie, then back at his sister. "Can we have a snack?" He asked.

She set the pillow onto the bed after Elizabeth finished making them. "You're hungry?" Elizabeth questioned. "Dinner was a few hours ago."

"We're starving!" Abraham insisted, seeing Elizabeth roll her eyes.

"I'm sure you are." She chuckled, lifting Charlie into his bed. Charlie was named after Richard, getting the nickname "Charlie" from the older children.

Charlie yawned, quietly shutting his eyes before there was a loud scream down the hallway from Felice. The twenty-two-year-old shrieking as Richard yelled something at her, calling her useless and belittling her. Charlie whimpered, wrapping his arms around Elizabeth. Elizabeth quietly shushed the scared boy, pulling both Charlie and Abraham to her side while Felice continued to scream.

"Get away from her!" Giles yelled as he ran into the house, having heard the screaming from outside as he retrieved water from the well. He ran to his father who was hitting his older sister, shoving Richard as hard as he could.

Richard let go of Felice when pushed by his sixteen-year-old, grunting as he hit the wall. He turned to punch Giles, grabbing his son's shoulder-length hair. Giles squirmed, eventually jerking his body so hard he ripped his hair out, the chunk of hair in Richard's grasp. Felice stood to the side, struck with fear as her brother headbutted Richard. Richard grabbed Giles by the head before Giles could headbutt him, lifting the boy by the shirt after and throwing him onto the couch. The old furniture snapped under Giles, Giles laid on the broken couch. He could feel his backache as he saw Richard turn back to Felice.

Felice cowered as Richard stood over her, grabbing her arm. "Who is Boaz." Richard huffed through his nose.

Boaz was a man Felice had met recently, he often wrote adoring letters to her which Felice never did return. Felice knew if she returned them she would be in trouble, so out of fear she didn't. But Richard had gotten one of the letters that morning from the postrider, assuming Boaz was a secret admirer of his daughter he was absolutely enraged.

When Felice didn't reply, he pulled on her arm, using his other arm to hit her in the face. Feeling a small sharp object jab into his neck, Richard screamed at the sudden pain. Giles wrapped his arms around his father and pulled him back off his sister, using a piece of the broken wood and shoving it into Richard's neck. Richard gritted his teeth and elbowed Giles in the ribs, pushing him away. He turned, seeing Giles standing tall with a brave face, but fear in his young eyes.

"You need to mind your business before I bloody kill you." Richard snarled, his devilish face filled with rage.

Giles looked at Felice, using his eyes to signal for her to leave as Richard held his bleeding neck. Felice ran out of the room and into Abraham's room, as it was the only door still open. She shut the door the second she entered the room. Felice appeared disgruntled as she turned to look at her siblings, her bruised face filled with horror as she looked at her siblings. They looked worried but fearful, Elizabeth holding the two boys close.

Elizabeth broke the near-silence, "are you okay.?" She muttered, the only other noise in the home was Giles and Richard having another shouting match. Giles, despite being just sixteen, always protected his sisters and mother from Richard. Even with his young age, Giles was a large built, courageous boy. Willing to protect his loved ones at any cost.

"I don't know.." Felice sniffled, stroking her hair nervously as her hands trembled. "He said he was going to kill Giles."

"He won't.." she assured her big sister, getting up and comforting Felice who was shaken with fear.

Felice looked at Elizabeth, beginning to weep quietly as the two girls hugged. Abraham looked at his sisters, copying them and hugging Charlie close. Wanting to be a good big sibling like they were.

The fighting ended over an hour later, Richard leaving the home to go see his friend Oliver Martin. The husband of Richard's second-oldest, Mary. Oliver was just as bad, if not worse than Richard. The two got along perfectly.

Giles fell to the floor, his bloodied scalp turned his now short brown hair a tinted red. His mouth was bleeding, his back was bleeding, and everything seemed to ache horribly. He laid down on the cool wooden flooring, it felt nice on his bruised face.

"Giles," Alice whispered as she walked into the Livingroom, looking down at her son. She nervously approached, helping Giles stand and assisting him to her bedroom since it was closer than his. She and Patience both helped Giles lay down. Alice sat by her son, patting his hair back, avoiding the part which was bleeding.

Giles groaned slightly, Richard usually was not nearly this bad. But he remained strong in front of his darling mother, looking up at her with his swollen bruised eyes.

Alice hushed him. "Go to sleep." she quietly said.

He obliged, shutting his eyes. Patience came into the bedroom, holding a warm bucket of water and a towel. She allowed Alice to remain by her son while quietly cleaning Giles' wounds with the wet towel. She didn't know if the gash on his head or the splinters scattered across his back were worse, but she pitied the boy. Alice seemed distraught over the amount of blood on the towel as Patience aided her son, beginning to cry.

Patience looked at the other woman, deciding to attempt at comforting her. "Are you alright?" She quietly asked, lifting the candle off the bedside to see Alice's face.

Alice lifted her grief-filled face out of her hands. "This is my fault... I. I should have done something."

"What were you supposed to do?" She asked.

Alice shrugged her shoulders lightly, sniffling. "I don't know.."

Patience paused before speaking again. "There is not much you could have done, and if you did I am sure Giles would have just gotten more defensive trying to protect you and perhaps could have gotten himself killed."

Alice didn't speak.

"You've done nothing wrong." Patience stated.


	4. Shooting Muskets

September 13th, 1758

Early morning in September, seven-year-old Abraham sat at the family's table in their dining room. Eating a piece of bread his mother had given him a few moments prior, still wearing his nightshirt. Abraham's feet swung under his chair as Clement walked behind him, snatching the bread out of his hands and taking a big bite before handing it back.

Abraham blinked a few times, then turned to look at Clement. "Hey!" he whined, grumbling a bit before Clement spoke once more, interrupting Abraham who was about to speak again.

"Father said to get dressed, we are going to the backfield to shoot muskets," Clement informed Abraham, smiling slightly at him as he did. Before stepping outside of the house.

Abraham tried to say something to him. "I'm not do-" but before he could finish, Clement was out of the house. Abraham sighed, he slid out of his chair and went to the bedroom he shared with Richard Junior, one of Patience's children. 

"Hi-hi!" Charlie said as he sat on the floor of their room, holding a block as he played with his sister Mercy who was ten. Mercy paid no attention to Abraham, and Abraham paid no attention to Charlie. Charlie frowned slightly, sad his half-brother said nothing to him. Abraham disliked Patience and her children, knowing how sad they made his mother. She acted miserable around them, being constantly reminded by her husband Richard that Patience was both younger and prettier than her.

Abraham stood in front of his bed, dressing himself quickly. As he buttoned his waistcoat, his bedroom door opened. Matthew, Abraham's fifteen-year-old brother walked into the room. "Are you almost ready, Abraham? Father is waiting." He was holding a musket, the gun was the same size as Abraham's whole body. Abraham worried he wouldn't be able to shoot and would disappoint his father, anxious, he hastily buttoned his coat as he nodded. The two left the bedroom once Abraham was ready, Abraham smiled up at Matthew but the kind grin was not returned by Matthew.

They went outside where Richard and the other boys were waiting, Clement and Giles holding the nicer guns since they were adults. While Abraham, Matthew, Gabriel, and Georges got the simpler muskets.

"There you are, Abraham. Slow as usual." Richard spoke, his voice deep and scratchy as he shoved a gun into Abraham's small arms, which Abraham struggled to hold. "I thought I would take you shooting, it is best you know now than later incase a war begins once more or this one continues by the time you are older and you must leave. I will willingly hand you off."

Abraham nodded quickly, agreeing with whatever his father said as Richard got onto his horse. Heading off down the trail, the boys followed. Abraham attempted to keep up with his brothers but struggled too due to the size of the musket in his hands. Dragging the butt of it on the ground, he whined. Clement heard his brother struggling and turned to look back at Abraham who had fallen behind, he slowed his step until Richard and everyone was ahead. Walking back to Abraham and picking up the gun for his little brother, smiling at Abraham.

"Thank you." Abraham smiled, staying close to Clement until they reached their destination, a large field. Empty and echoing noises from the forest surrounding it, Abraham glanced up at Richard who stepped off his horse. It was slightly windy that evening, Clement's son, who was five, had tagged along. Along with Noémie, Clement was a tall man with short reddish-brown curly hair, tanned skin, and a strong structure. Wearing a dark brown coat, with tanned breeches and his father's boots from Richard's youth, which he had dug out during the start of the seven-year war. His son, Alexander sat with Noémie a bit far from the rest of them. The two of them watching as the boys shot their weapons into the trees, practicing steadily while Abraham struggled to even hold his up. Richard watched over his sons, occasionally giving Abraham a dirty look for his failure to successfully shoot.

"Clement, could you demonstrate, again, on how to use the muskets." Richard requested, looking at his oldest son. Clement nodded and began to demonstrate for the third time now, trying to show Abraham the most view on how to do it, not wanting Abraham to be in trouble for his lacking skill.

Abraham watched, confusion scattered on his face, he didn't understand any terms for the weapon. He didn't understand anything at all, eventually, he walked up to Richard. Looking up at his father he spoke quietly, "Papa, could you please help me, please?" he said, trying to be polite as he asked for help.

"What is the point of taking you out here if you are going to be useless," Richard replied, scoffing slightly as he looked back up at Giles. "Figure it out, Abraham."

Abraham muttered. "But Papa, I can't."

"I said figure it out, didn't I?"

"yes, pap-'

"So figure it out!" Richard snapped at the young boy, causing Abraham to flinch at his father's tone. Frightened, he nodded quickly and walked back to his spot next to Matthew. The loud noises of gunfire brought Abraham pain in his ears, scared stiff as he stared at the guns his brothers were firing. Unable to move, his heart began racing as he imagined the outcome if he failed to shoot, his father would be so disappointed in him.

As the sun melted away in the distance, the wind began to chill as the sky above them darkened. The darkness made the woods look so much deeper and scarier, Abraham stared into the woods. It had been hours since they left home and he hadn't shot once, just wishing he could go home to his mother. "We best be going home before the sun sets," Richard spoke, sitting on his horse Artemis still. The horse was tall with a sleek black coat, he had bought it from a man who lived by named Mr. Thomas that Abraham had visited a few times with his father. As his brothers and Richard began to walk back, Richard stopped, letting Abraham's brothers walk ahead. He put his foot in front of Abraham to stop him, peering down at the little boy,

"Stay."

Confusion filled Abraham's expression, his eyes widening. Stay? By himself in the dark? Fear overtook his emotions as Richard continued to walk. "Huh?"

Richard looked over his shoulder. "When you can shoot, you can come home. No son of mine is a pansy like you, Abraham."

Abraham appeared to be stunned as his brother Clement and Giles looked at Richard, both having judgmental expressions upon their faces after hearing their father's words to the young boy.

"Father.." Clement spoke in a concerned tone for Abraham, peering up at his father. "he is seven years old, you cannot expect him to be able to perform such tasks. It is dangerous."

Richard looked at Clement. "Quiet, boy," he said. "You may be the man of your family, but you will not tell me how to raise my children." He huffed, before turning away to ride down the trail on his horse. Clement and the other boys followed, Giles trailing behind.

Once they disappeared into the woods, Abraham sat down on the ground. Unsure of what to do, he felt cold, scared, and alone in the big empty forest. Whilst watching their figures vanish into the deep abyss, Abraham's pupils shrunk in the realization of the fact the sun was soon setting, in the dark of the night he knew there would be wolves and other horrible creatures of the night that could tear through his young, fragile flesh like shears through the fabric of a shirt.

Alone in the darkness for hours, Abraham sat in the field, unsure of what to do. Even if he wished to return home to his father's displeasure, he did not know his way. He couldn't imagine the affliction it would cause either way. The Wilson child heard a noise emerge from the trail, heavy footsteps that echoed in the silence of the night. A man in a cape that covered his face, the stranger intrigued Abraham but also brought fear in the mystery of who it was.

"Abraham?"

He recognized the deep, sonorous voice. Giles. His brother, nineteen years in age, Giles was tall and thin with mutton chops, but without the mustache part.

Giles spoke with an insouciant tone in his voice as he approached his brother, a bag in his hands. He took out a blanket. "I cannot bring you home, the risk would be deadly to one of us." he chuckled briskly, "But." He paused. "I have brought your blanket and your jacket."

Abraham took the objects from his sibling with his small hands, looking up at the man, "Please do not leave me out here.." he muttered softly.

He frowned, his bearing was full of pity for Abraham. "I'm sorry," he said. "Just lie, just tell father you were capable of shooting and hope he doesn't ask for proof," Giles whispered, his voice was loud compared to the deep empty noise in their surroundings. Before Abraham could speak, Giles turned on his heels and ran back towards the pathway out of the woods. Abraham looked at the bag, blanket, and coat. Not sure what to do first, he had never been on his own before. Fear made his stomach feel like it was full of butterflies, the feeling rose to his chest and felt heavier as the dread of the situation weighed on him deeply in the night. He slid his arms into the sleeves that were slightly too long, pulling the jacket on before sliding under the blanket and trying to fit his upper half into the large bag, laying in the field like that and trying to sleep.

As Giles returned to the home, he creaked open the back door as silent as he could. But saw Alice sat in the living room from the kitchen, staring at her in the darkness. The space between them lit by a candle resting by Alice on a table as she held "And After the Fire" in her hands, shutting the book.

"Giles, where is Abraham?" she asked, her hand on her stomach. She was eight months pregnant with her eleventh child, Giles felt commiseration for both his unknowing mother and for his brother who sat stranded in the field.

"Shouldn't you be resting, mother?" Giles said with sweat on his brow, not wanting to stress his mother with the situation Abraham was in. "I will bring you to your chambers, come along."

As he attempted to rest his hand upon her back, she stepped away. "Where is Abraham?" she repeated her question, concern filled her face for her young boy.

Giles sighed. "Mother.."

One of the nannies the children had, named Miranda Edyvean overheard the commence in the Livingroom, sitting up in her bed. She had been with the Wilson's since Patience's husband Robert Winchester had passed in 1742 after his sons had turned one. She remembered the scent of illness and vomit in the bedroom he shared with his beloved wife, the two of them sitting there in the silence as Robert succumbed to scarlet fever that had bedridden him. Miranda vividly imagined the scene often, how Mrs., now Miss Winchester turned her head to look at Miranda who was standing in the doorway from where she sat by her dead husband. Then told her to go get the doctor, Miranda was just twenty-eight then, poor Patience then fell into the clutching embrace of Mr. Wilson shortly after Robert's passing, desperate for money and affection she allowed his sick game to begin as she danced in his deadly cruel embrace that he called 'love', but Ms. Edyvean, the nanny, knew it wasn't love, she saw the nights that pained Patience shortly after she meat Richard and the Hell he brought upon his wife and children when Patience moved in with the Wilson's. She also saw the nights Alice stayed awake and cried, knowing she had to live the rest of her life with this horrid man, praying he would die soon of some illness. Not caring it was shamed upon to wish such things upon her husband, she truly couldn't have cared less. Miranda stepped out of her bed, slowly walking down the hall as she lit a candle. Holding the candle holder and looking into the Livingroom.

"Mrs. Wilson? Mr. Wilson? Are you alright?" she said, she was told by her new boss since Patience had given her to Richard. Miranda was still a free woman, still only hired by them. But the Irish woman had no other option of a career in Britain besides to work for the rich. Her father George worked as a servant, her mother Marie was a servant, and it would continue. She hoped to find a nice man someday to marry, wanting out of the endless cycle of neglect from the people who hired her.

"Giles just- Tell me where he is!" Alice demanded, before hearing the soothing voice of Ms. Edyvean, such a lovely woman she was. She was kind, she did Alice's hair and helped her pick clothing to wear each day. "Ms. Edyvean! Do you know where Abraham is? He isn't in his bedroom, Richard will not speak to me, please tell me if you do, I beg-"

"Mother." Giles sighed, each day his mother seemed to become more distressed over everything. He felt immense pity and grief for her, not able to imagine how she felt. So many children to look over, and a husband who treated her in such a discourteous, disgusting manner.

Miranda shook her head. "I do not know, Mrs. Wilson. I'm sorry." She apologized, speaking quietly in fear that Richard would awake from the noise of the three speaking.

Alice began to weep. "it's a simple question, Giles. Where is your brother?"

Silence filled the room as Giles felt a lump in his throat of guilt from keeping information from her, he knew he was without option but to tell her. He was out of lies. "He is in the,, the woods. Well- Not the woods he's, in, the field the. Uh. Shooting field." he stumbled on words as his mother's face became more horrified with every word.

"BY HIMSELF?" Alice screamed, Giles, covered her mouth, shushing her before she shoved him away. "You left your brother in the woods? Alone? What if he gets hurt, what if he's cold, what if he gets KILLED?"

As she spoke the guilt continued to swell, knowing he wasn't blameworthy for the situation, but he still felt as if he was a culprit. "I'm sorry, mother."

Alice ran to the door, putting on her coat and attempting to put on her shoes at the same time. Just wearing her nightgown, Miranda went to her. "Mrs. Wilson, you are in no state to travel.."

"I have to get him!"

Ms. Edyvean frowned, her eyes scanned at the small window on the door. It was dark, but she had good eyes. "I will go."

Alice stopped for a moment, before smiling sadly. She assisted Miranda in putting her jacket on, lightly kissing the woman's cheek when nobody else was in the room. The two exchanged a glance before Miranda stepped into the cold night, wearing a long cloak over her head, holding it closed. She stared into the yard as her eyes adjusted to the starless, pitch-black darkness. The breeze was frigid against her pale skin, her knuckles became redder as she walked into the forest, staring forward and trying to see as best as she could down the path. It seemed to trail on endlessly as she slowly walked, shivering. She set her hands on her face, stopping for a moment. Her hands were just slightly warmer, sighing quietly. Unable to imagine how scared Abraham was, alone by himself on such a cold night. Miranda continued to walk quietly, her feet scuffing against the dirt pathway was the only thing she could hear in the dingy woods.

As she reached the other end of the pathway, she stared into the field that greeted her. How empty and lonely it felt in the silence, the grass swayed slightly with the wind as the world seemed to stop around her. After taking in the eerily calm moment, Miranda resurfaced from her thoughts to peer around the field. Spotting a brown satchel about a mile away, she approached it. As she got closer, she recognized Giles' bag. As Miranda went to grab it, she spotted Abraham's small legs sticking out from inside the bag. Caught off guard, she yanked the bag off of his upper half. Abraham looked up at her, seeming frightened by the sudden jerking away of the satchel.

"Mr., Eddy-bean?" He asked, unable to pronounce her name. His skin was blueish due to the freezing temperature. Miranda picked him up into her arms, holding the blanket around him and allowing him to bury his face against her shoulder. Abraham snuffled, his body quivering due to the cold. He couldn't feel his feet in his shoes, it felt as if they weren't there at all.

She gently stroked his auburn-titan-colored hair, sighing. "I am here now, do not fret," she spoke softly, Miranda rubbed his back with the blanket still covering it. During the swift-paced walk back to the home, she noticed Abraham had fallen asleep in her arms. His face appeared relaxed, the tip of his nose red from the painful chill.


	5. Fevered

September 14th, 1758

Abraham lied in his bed, his breathing labored as Alice sat at his bedside. She gently stroked her son's hair, feeling Abraham snuffle as he stirred awake. He had developed a horrid case of pneumonia after his night in the woods, the boy coughed a few times. 

One of the servants of the home, a pale man named Hannibal who was from New South Wales, entered the bedroom. He held a platter holding tea and some bread for the young boy, his face hardly had an expression as usual. It was not normal that Hannibal would assist in the home, normally he worked within the stable. His main job being escorting Richard around in his carriage. 

"Hello, Mrs. Wilson," Hannibal said, Ms. Edyvean entering the room behind him. "I have brought food for the child."

"Thank you.." Alice spoke softly, taking the platter from him. 

Ms. Edyvean sat by Alice, looking at Hannibal who stood still for a moment. The man's stiffened face stared blankly at nothing before he turned away to leave. 

Alice quickly stopped him. "Hannibal. What are you doing in the house?" She asked. 

Hannibal froze at the door, blinking a few times. He turned back to Alice, looking into her eyes. He appeared slightly creepy to the other servants and people who inhabited the home. Richard had many servants, some were paid but it was very little. The others were forced to work for the home despite the fact Richard could easily pay all his workers, he didn't. Hannibal was one of the paid ones, Miranda was not. Most of the Wilson estate workers slept in the cellar outside, it was cold and dark down there. The ones that didn't sleep outside were Miranda and another woman named Esther. Hannibal had gotten the option to, but refused. The man heavily disliked Richard. 

"Philia and Anne are busy cleaning Sir Wilson's chambers," Hannibal replied. His hands folded in front of him as he stood by the doorway. 

Alice paused for a moment, nodding. "What are the others doing?"

"Linus is with Sir Wilson at Mr. Martin's estate, Candance and Esther are cleaning other parts of the home, Rufus is cleaning the barn, and Duncan is working within the field," Hannibal informed her. "I assumed based on their busy status and my lack of current work, I would make lunch for Abraham." 

"Oh, well. Thank you, Hannibal. You may leave now." Alice nodded her head, watching as Hannibal left. She looked at Ms. Edyvean, smiling a bit. "Hello."

"Hi," Miranda said, narrowing her eyes as she returned the smile. "Alice, I had a question."

"Yes?"

Miranda stopped before she looked at Alice. "How come you and the children, and even Richard are so respectful towards me. You call me 'Ms. Edyvean' and.. just. You're so much kinder to me."

Alice shrugged. "Uhm.." She mumbled. "Richard says it's because your family is more.. respectable? And, and I think it's because of your Irish. Scottish descent. Richard's like that too."

"I see.." Miranda spoke, seeming slightly puzzled. "What is Richard's hair color?"

"That's an odd question," said Alice.

Miranda giggled. "I'm just curious."

"His hair's ginger." She said. "Well. Ginger-ish, and brown-grey. His current hair color is the one he's always had."

"His hair is always grey?" Miranda asked. "I thought he was just old."

Alice covered her mouth with her hand, softly giggling. "Well... that too."

The two women laughed among each other for a moment, Abraham appeared zoned out as he laid in his bed. Groaning quietly, his throat ached from vomiting earlier. Alice picked up the bread, holding it to Abraham's lips. Abraham shook his head, having no appetite. He began to wail as Alice attempted to force him to eat, she sighed.

"Abe.." She set her hand onto her son's forehead, his skin was burning hot. "You have to eat, you'll feel worse if you don't." 

When attempting to feed him again, Abraham cried out at her. "Mama noooo!" He bawled.

Alice picked him up, frowning. "Can you try and eat for me?"

"No!" He insisted. 

She sighed deeply, holding him close and beginning to rub his back. "If you don't eat now, you have to promise you'll eat later. You've been throwing up all day, there is no way you aren't hungry."

Abraham whimpered, gripping her shirt and shoving his head against his mother's chest. His face turned redder as he scrunched his nose angrily, tears forming in his eyes. "Don't want to!" He yelled at her.

"Abraham." She tried to sound stern, watching as Abraham threw his head back and wailed. He squirmed as Alice attempted to comfort the child without avail, Abraham continued his tantrum. He whacked her on the nose when Alice attempted to give him a kiss, she huffed. "Abraham you are being very naughty, mommy is just trying to make you feel better."

"I don't want foooodddd!" He cried. "No food, not hungry!"

Alice couldn't help but stifle a laugh, hearing Abraham grumble similar to an animal as he flailed around. "Abraham I'm not even making you eat anything anymore!"

Abraham sniffled, looking at her. "You aren't?"

"No." she laughed. "You'll eat later." Alice stroked his hair back out of his face, using her other hand to gently wipe his tears. 

He curled back up to her, calmly sitting in her lap. "No, eat later."

"Okay," Alice whispered, not arguing with him so he wouldn't have another fuss. But knew later she would make that boy eat. Alice gently laid Abraham back into his bed, tucking him into the comforter. "Cephes is coming over, but you don't get out of this bed, Mister."

"I wan' see Cephes.." Sulked Abraham, Cephes was Abraham's best friend since he was a few months old. The boys just a few days apart in age. 

She shook her head as Miranda quietly watched them. "You can't." 

"Aawwwaauuugghhhhh-" Abraham groaned, turning in his bed to face the wall. 

Alice leaned over the bed, tickling his side. Abraham smacked her hand, huffing through his nose. "You rest." She kissed her son's forehead. Before leading Miranda out of the room as Abraham drifted off. 

Miranda brought the platter with them as they walked down the hallway, setting it on the table to be washed later. "Mrs. Wilson, is there anything you needed to be done today?"

"No," Alice replied, taking Miranda's hand. Miranda looked at their hands, before looking back at the other woman. "You can come on a walk with me though." 

Ms. Edyvean smiled, glancing into the Livingroom before they left. There she could see through the large window, Clement sat lonesome on their porch. His face torn as he stared at a letter in his hands. She stared, before being brought off by Alice to go put on some warm clothing for their walk.

Clement, seated on the porch steps. Held the letter from his estranged lover, George Inn. A man he longed for in these passing years but had been without any letters, visits, etc for what felt like forever for Clement. But then finally, a letter. Just one letter from George filled Clement with joy, only to be stricken with emotions of sadness and regret upon opening it.

"My Dearest Clement,

I am writing in return for your multitude of letters to me, your long, endearing messages despite your commitment to my lovely sister, Noémie. And with this, and your own choice of marriage. I can not and will not commit to you, I refuse. 

You said within your vows to love my sister and only my sister, and I insist you shall stick to those promises. For you to do this, you must rid of me. You must forget that I exist and move on with your life.

-George Inn"'

Clement felt his blood boil, he felt so angry but so sad all at once. He would not let George slip away like this, standing up. Clement walked into his father's home, going upstairs to Richard's office. To his luck, it was empty. Clement sat at his father's sleek wooden desk, made by George Martin, who was a very good craftsman. He opened one of the drawers, taking out a piece of paper. Clement dipped the quill into ink and began to write.

"Mister. Inn,

With due respect, I fail to understand your feelings. Your lack of compassion towards my love for both you and your sister, I believe in the fullest I will be able to adorn you both without the other knowing. I am intelligent and clever. Noémie will not know. Her happiness will remain.

As I know you deeply wish to continue our infatuation, and you miss me.

-C. Wil"

Clement folded his letter and tied it with a ribbon, standing up as he did. He walked out of the room, leaving it as he found it. Clement walked down the stairs and outside to his horse. He got onto the large beast, riding down the road towards George's home to find the postrider. He knew he could give it to George himself, but he did not want to. Clement knew the letter would irk George, he knew it'd push George into seeing him in person. It was still quite early, Clement rode up and down the roads and eventually found Hercules Cowgil, the postrider. 

"Stop!" Clement yelled, riding behind the man. 

Hercules stopped his horse, turning his upper torso to look at Clement. "Mr. Wilson!" The man smiled, watching as Clement rode up beside him.

Clement handed Hercules the letter. "For George Inn."

"I already went by Mr. Inn's home, I'll deliver it tomorrow for ya." Hercules gripped Clement's arm in a friendly matter, his smile continued.

"No, no," he stated. "Deliver it now, I need you to deliver it now for me."

Hercules huffed, appearing slightly irritated. "Mr. Wilson I am not gonna turn around and deliver a letter to Mr. Inn when I already gave him his mail. Good day," he stated with a stern voice, before riding off down the road.

Clement sighed, rubbing his temples before he rode back to his and Noémie's home. 

At that same time, Alice returned from her walk with Miranda. The two women walked inside, taking off their coats and boots. It was just before eleven in the morning. "Alice, would you like tea?" 

"I would," Rose said before Alice could respond to Miranda, sat at the dining table next to Edward. Rose hadn't come to visit in the past three months, she was obviously quite pregnant.

Alice turned, seeing her oldest daughter. Her expression beamed with joy, going over to hug her daughter. "Oh, what a pleasant surprise!" She smiled, looking at her daughter's stomach. Alice put her hand onto Rose's belly, smiling.

"The doctor says they will be born next January," Rose informed her mother, who was smiling very brightly.

"The children are very happy about their new sibling," Edward stated. 

Alice looked at the happy couple, sighing. "I'm so happy for you two, such a kind man for my daughter." She pinched Edward's cheek, making the man laugh. "Where are Ava and Rich?" 

"They're with my parents in Sheffield." He replied. 

She looked at Edward. "Quite far away for two children, isn't it?" Alice asked.

Edward tilted his hands in a 'kinda' gesture. "Rose could really use the break, and with me working it is hard for her to care for the children herself." Explained Edward as he rubbed Rose's back, who was lightly leaning on him.

"Oh," Alice said, she paused for a moment. She wished Richard thought about her like that, or cared at all about her. "That is.. very. Very sweet."

"Are you alright, Mrs. Wilson?" He questioned.

Rose sat upright, the blind woman couldn't see her mother's saddened expression. Felice walked into the room upon hearing her sister's voice, smiling at Rose. Miranda brought tea to the table as Alice explained she was fine.

"Rose!" Felice said. "How have you been?"

Rose heard her sister, she grinned slightly. "I've been good, and yourself?"

Felice sat by Rose, holding her arm so Rose would know she was there. "I'm good too." 

They drank tea and continued their conversation until lunchtime when Edward and Rose left, Miranda went to help Philia make dinner as Alice walked down the hallway to check on baby Geneviève, who had been born earlier in the year. She looked into her daughter's crib before scooping her into her arms, looking at the half-asleep baby. Alice decided to allow Geneviève to return to her napping, setting the baby back into her crib delicately and leaving the nursery to go to her own bedroom. Alice felt exhausted, she usually did not leave the house and the walk had drained the little energy she had. Before she could sleep, just as she laid down. The door creaked as it opened. Alice looked at Richard, her face groggy as he removed his shirt and jacket. Alice laid there, allowing Richard to get on top of her as he began his near-daily favorite activity. 

Abraham heard a door down the hall shut as his father came home, the slamming woke him up. As well as the familiar creaking noise that tended to come from his parent's bedroom. The young boy slid out of bed, feeling Charlie watching him. 

"Felice said you couldn't play today because you have to stay in bed to feel better," Charlie said, looking off his bed at Abraham as his older brother walked to their shared desk. "And that if you got up I was supposed to tell you to go back to sleep."

Abraham ignored him, getting a piece of paper and beginning to write a little book he had been working on about a soldier named Charles. He couldn't write overly well, but he deeply enjoyed it. 

"Abraham?" Charlie asked.

"What!" The older boy huffed, he flipped around in his chair to look at Charlie. His face flushed due to his high fever.

Charlie looked across the dim room, playing with a loose string on his blanket. "I'll have to tell on you if you don't go back to bed. I want you to get better." He muttered.

Abraham scoffed, continuing to write. He felt sick but was determined to become the best writer that London had ever seen. It was his life ambition. His destiny some could say. "I'm too busy to sleep, I've been sleeping all day long!"

"You need sleep, Felice said so!" He argued, getting out of his own bed and running to the desk. Charlie rested his hands on the desk as he peeked over it. "Go to bed."

"You go to bed."

"Abraham, if you don't go to bed by dark you know the scary monsters come out!" Charlie whimpered. "If they eat you they might eat me!"

Abraham's eyes widened, he had completely forgotten about the 'scary child-eating monsters' Giles had warned him about a few months prior. He looked out their bedroom window, seeing the sun was still high. 

He pointed to the window. "it is hardly mid-day, Charlie. I have plenty of time."

"Yeah but, but. But what if the scary monsters eat you 'cause you're sick and you're supposed to be asleep?" Charlie asked.

Giles heard the boys chatting, rolling his eyes a bit. He crept into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Why aren't you in bed?" Giles raised an eyebrow at Abraham. 

Charlie ran out of the room, going to go see his mom after his nap. 

"I don't want to be in bed all day, I'm bored," Abraham whined, putting his head onto the desk.

Giles walked to the desk, lifting Abraham's head up by pulling on the back of his nightgown. "You know, the monsters can tell you're supposed to be asleep. And they'll come to eat you!" 

Abraham's face turned to one of fear, looking at his big brother. "Will they really?" He asked.

"They really, really will and I hear they're very hungry." He warned, using an eerie tone.

Abraham hopped off his chair, scurrying to his bed. He crawled under the sheets and tightly shut his eyes. Giles smiled, going over to Abraham and tucking him in.

"You'll feel better soon enough. And then the monsters won't be able to get you during the day again." Giles assured him. "Goodnight, Abraham." 

The rest of the evening was spent hunting with Matthew, Giles showed his younger brother how to turkey and how to fish. Giles didn't kill anything he caught, throwing it back in and freeing the turkeys once he grabbed them. As they walked back, empty-handed. Matthew stopped.

"We didn't catch anything."

Giles looked back at Matthew. "Well we didn't need anything, I was just showing you how to do it."

Matthew furrowed his eyebrows, he grabbed the gun off his back they had brought in case they had a run-in with an aggressive animal or person. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Giles said, sounding annoyed. "We don't need to kill anything, there's no point in you shooting anything if we won't eat-"

With that there was a loud bang, Giles stared at the corpse of a deer that had been over twenty feet away. It laid on the ground, having died nearly instantly. Giles' face filled with sadness, then anger.

"Why the bloody Hell would you shoot it? I just told you not to!" He yelled.

Matthew held the gun close. "It's free food!" He said as he gestured towards the deer.

"WE DON'T NEED FOOD RIGHT NOW I WAS JUST SHOWING YOU HOW TO DO IT!" 

The two stood in silence as Giles huffed, looking away as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The awkward silence continued until Matthew broke it.

"I was trying to be helpful," Matthew muttered. Giving Giles a look of slight anger. 

Giles looked back at his brother, sighing a bit. "It's not helpful if we don't need it as I said."

"Why are you so upset?" Matthew asked, he didn't know what the issue Giles had with this! It was just an animal, they served no ongoing purpose in the world. One deer would not change the fact that the world turned.

"because you can't just--kill things!" Giles explained. "It's, cruel and pointless. The deer didn't need to be food, what if it has a family? What if it has babies?" 

Matthew scrunched his nose. "Okay?" He said. "It's,, just a deer. They don't do anything."

Giles' blood boiled with frustration. "You take it back to the house. And you can prepare it too." He stated, turning his back to Matthew as he began to track home.

"But I don't know how!" Matthew replied as Giles began to walk away.

"You didn't listen to me the first time," Giles said. "So I will not explain it to you, you'll just have to figure it out." 

Giles returned home, Matthew returned thirty minutes later with the dead deer. Going into their shed to skin it and such. As Giles sat in the Livingroom, cooling down his temper. There was a knock at their door.


	6. Augustus

September 14th, 1758

Abraham peaked out of his bedroom, looking down the long hallway as Giles opened the front door. There stood Mr. Augustus O'Brian, a popular aristocrat who lived next door. Giles welcomed the man, shaking his hand. Augustus handed Giles their mail, the postrider had given it to Augustus that morning on accident. 

"Thank you, Mr. O'Brian," Giles said calmly, setting the mail onto the counter as Alice exited her bedroom. 

Giles looked at her, she appeared drained and tired. Dressed in her pale pink nightgown, her hair a mess. The woman averted her droopy eyes as Richard exited the bedroom behind her, gripping her wrist. 

"Can I help you?" Richard grumbled, looking at Augustus. He greatly disliked him, and Augustus hated Richard even more. 

Augustus picked the letter off the counter, walking it to Richard. "Mr. Cowgil accidentally gave it to me, again." He stated. "I'd like to have a conversation with you either way, so I thought I would bring it over."

"I don't have time to talk to you," Richard replied smugly. "I have a meeting with Mr. William Greene about this ongoing war with the colonies."

Augustus put his hands on his hips, watching as Richard walked towards the door. "Well, I expect to talk to you soon, Mr. Wilson. You cannot keep avoiding me."

Richard moved his hand as if it were a mouth, mocking O'Brian as he left. Alice walked over to her guest, looking at Mr. O'Brian. "I'm sorry, sir.." she apologized for Richard's behavior.

"That's alright," Augustus said, patting Alice on the back. "Do you mind if the kids and the wife come inside? They're sitting out in the carriage, it is rather chilly."

"Of course they can," Alice answered, smiling politely at him.

He nodded his head, his long straight ginger hair at his shoulders as he walked out of the house to go retrieve his family. Giles exchanged a look with his mother before he walked upstairs to his bedroom. Harriet, a black-curly-haired woman with deep brown eyes was the wife of Augustus. They had four gorgeous daughters, twenty-eight-year-old Leah, twenty-four-year-old Veronica, nineteen-year-old Heaven, and twelve-year-old Grace. Their youngest child was their son Cephes, just three days younger than Abraham. He sat on his mother's hip, unlike his sisters the boy had curly ginger hair. While the girls had straight black hair. Cephes had fair skin, deep brown eyes, and large circle glasses. His skin freckled like his father's. 

Harriet glanced around, before looking at Alice. "Alice." She smiled, hugging her friend. The two women wrote frequently, loving each other's company.

"Hello, Mrs. Wilson!" Their daughter Veronica said, walking to Alice. "I wanted to invite you to my wedding, I am marrying a soldier from America. His name Thomas Farley." 

Alice took the slip of paper from Veronica, looking quietly at the invitation. "I will see what Richard says, but I would love to go if possible."

The girls went to go speak with Felice and Elizabeth as Cephes remained on his mother's hip, the adults going into the sitting room. The walls were a sleek deep yellow, with dark red chairs and a loveseat. The firepit in the room was lit. In the room was the wedding portrait of Richard and Alice behind the loveseat, fourteen-year-old Alice in the portrait. Her face appeared saddened, sitting next to the smug twenty-four-year-old, Richard. Married just months after Richard's separation from Baroness Primrose Lovelace. Who happened to be Augustus' brother's ex-wife after he died in seventeen nineteen of a sudden asthmatic attack. 

"So how have you been, Ms. Stewart?" Asked Augustus, sat by his wife in one of the seats. The man always referred to Alice by part of her surname, which was 'Hill-Stewart', her father was John Stewart and her mother was Mary Hill. John was an indigenous man from Alberta, his birth name being 'Keme', while her mother was a woman from Manitoba. 

Alice looked at him, a slight smile on her face despite being extremely tired. "I am well, thank you." 

Augustus eyed the portrait on the wall, pursing his lips. But he did not comment. Miranda brought in three cups and a teapot, giving it to the adults and pouring their tea. Then got a glass of milk for little Cephes.

"Where is Richard?" Harriet questioned, looking at Alice intently.

"He has gone to deliver a message to a 'friend'. William Greene, I do not know what he wishes to speak of with him. But I am certain it is of great importance, he will return tomorrow." Alice said calmly.

Harriet nodded, looking to August who nodded back knowingly. "Alice, why do you not leave that horrid man once you get the chance? He is a vile creature from Hell." August spoke with passion in his voice. "You do not deserve such treachery from that heartless being." 

Alice looked away with her deep green eyes, biting her lip in silence for a moment. "I.. Shall not speak of my husband like this. It is not proper." She muttered in fear. 

"Mama?" Cephes spoke to get his mother's attention. "May I go say hi to Abe?"

"No, Cephes. He is sick, you do not want to be confined to your quarters with indisposition because you said hello to Abraham, do you?" Harriet asked as she stroked her son's hair.

He rested his head on her chest, sighing sadly. "No, Mama," he said quietly.

"Good boy," Harriet replied, poking the tip of his nose.

Augustus looked at Alice. "I must ask, what are your thoughts on your husbands.. entanglements with... that woman." The man eyed Patience as she walked past the bedroom, holding some folded clothes as she assisted Felice with the laundry.

Alice went silent, setting her cup onto its small plate and looking down into the swirling liquid. Before looking up to Mr. O'Brian. "All is well between me and Miss. Clifton." She muttered.

"Does not seem fine"

"Don't push it, August." Harriet harshly whispered to her husband.

Augustus huffed, feeling angry at the thought of Richard. He was such a dirty, rotten bastard of a man. Everything he did revolt Augustus, from his 'proslavery' mindset to his abusive tendencies and improper manner. Absolutely everything.

"Well, Ms. Stewart. If you need anything we are not far." August spoke. "There is room for you and your beautiful children, it would not be a bother if you ever need to escape that. That devil of a man."

"I CAN'T JUST LEAVE!" Alice screamed. "STOP ACTING LIKE I CAN! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING." She stood up, beginning to cry as Augustus sat back in his seat. Seeming caught off guard by her tone. She looked away, her lip trembled as Felice entered the room. Felice glanced at the guests, then at her mother. 

Giles ran into the room after his sister, his eyebrows furrowed. "What happened?" he asked, going to go stand by Alice and hold his mother close to him.

"Nothing happened," Alice muttered, feeling bad for snapping at Augustus in such a manner. "I'm... sorry, Mr. O'Brian." 

Matthew stood outside the Livingroom, listening carefully for the last few minutes of the conversation. He grinned upon hearing his mother's freak-out, knowing the fact she had partly agreed with Augustus meant that Richard would be absolutely furious... But he also knew Richard would be very happy that Matthew told him. The teenager quietly snuck out of the house to go find his father.

Giles leads his mother out of the room while Felice continued to amuse the guests, having a friendly conversation about family. He brought Alice into her room, sitting her onto her bed as she continued to cry. Beginning to hyperventilate and sniffle, covering her red face with her hands as Giles sat by her. He held the woman close, rubbing her back as Alice openly ugly sobbed. She gripped Giles' shirt, looking up at him.

"I'll never--never ever get out of this marriage, I'll die here, I'll never be happy-" She sobbed. "I'll never. I'll never see my family again, I'm stuck, with him." Alice grimaced before she began to cry, her body shaken. 

Giles attempted to comfort her, rubbing her back and shushing her. "I'm so, so sorry Mama..." He muttered softly, patting her hair. Tears were brought to his eyes seeing her so upset, he wanted to fix all of her problems but knew he couldn't. "I'm here." He whispered.

Alice continued to sob, hugging onto Giles. "I'm so sorry, that-that he is your father." 

"That isn't your fault.." Giles said, moving his mother's hair out of her face. "Mama, that isn't your fault at all you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I should've just. Just killed myself when I got pregnant with Clement.." Alice cried, putting her face back into her hands.

His expression softened a frown on his face. "Mama.." He said. "please look at me."

Once Alice looked at her son, Giles tucked her hair back out of her tear-filled face. "I'm sorry." She whimpered.

"Don't be sorry.." Giles repeated. "Mama if you weren't my mom, I'd be nothing. You are such a wonderful mother to me." He held her hands, looking into her deep green eyes. "It's not your fault that Richard is a horrible man. Not your fault at all."

She slumped over, sniffling and curling up to Giles. Alice felt cold, her underweight figure was trembling with anxiety. Giles gently pulled the blanket over her, rubbing her back. He could hear Augustus and his family leaving, but decided to stay by his mother instead of saying goodbyes. Shortly after, Alice fell asleep with her head on Giles' lap. She looked so peaceful, Giles pitied his poor mother. They wished that they were never born, but only because that would mean his mother was without that horrid man. Without him, and happy that way. It was all he wanted for his dear mother.

"WHERE IS SHE." He heard Richard yell as the front door slammed open in the other room, Giles leaned over Alice slightly. He set his arm over her as she awoke from the noise, her body began to tremble worse than before. 

"Shh," Giles whispered, putting the blanket over Alice and attempting to comfort her as she began to cry. 

Richard stomped down the hallway, going room to room. "ALICE." He yelled for his wife, he sounded enraged.

Little Abraham sat at the table, staring wide-eyed at Richard as he ate some bread with cheese on it. He watched as Richard turned to look at him, his face was red with anger. He approached the now shaking Abraham, who looked up at his father with fear as his pupils shrunk.

"Where the fuck is your whore of a mother." Richard snarled, gritting his teeth as he gripped Abraham by the shirt. 

"I don't know," Abraham muttered, sniffling as he teared up. He could see Matthew behind his father, watching with the familiar-smug face just like Richard.

Richard grabbed the boy tighter, looking into his eyes. "SPEAK UP." he insisted.

He began to cry. "I don't know!" Abraham repeated.

Richard dropped Abraham back into his seat, watching as the young boy sobbed. He scoffed, walking to his bedroom and swinging the door open. He saw as Giles stood in front of his quivering mother, sat on the bed wrapped in the blanket. 

"You fucking slut--talking about me to that cunt Augustus." Richard pointed at Alice as he said, his eyes filled with hate. 

"You get away from her!" Giles yelled at his father, shielding Alice. 

He changed to look at Giles instead, furrowing his greyish eyebrows. "Get the fuck out of my face. Or I'll make sure you are never a problem to me ever again." He threatened.

"I'd like to see you try, old man," Giles replied, staying put.

"Giles." Alice whined, "Just--just go."

Giles didn't respond, remaining in his place. Richard walked to Giles swiftly, grabbing him by the arm. Giles grabbed at his father's face with his other hand, clawing at his face with his nails. Richard grunted and began to drag Giles off by the arm. Giles squirmed, attempting to get his wrist out of his father's grasp. Alice watched as Giles was dragged out of the room, hearing the two men yelling at each other. She slowly stood up, backing herself into the corner as Richard reentered the room. He shut the door almost all the way, looking even angrier than before.

Richard asked. "Do you think he can protect you all the time?" 

"N... No." Alice mumbled, cowering from Richard as he walked around the bed towards her. 

"That boy always gets in my way, I'm going to sell him off to get him married. And I'm going to make sure his wife is an old, miserable bitch like you." Richard mocked Alice. Once close, he grabbed her by the hair. 

Alice whimpered, crying. "Nooo!" She bawled. "You can't do that to him-I'll make him stop bugging you, Richard, please!" Alice cried, begging her husband not to force her son into a marriage like she was.

"You can't make me not do anything." He laughed at her tears, before whacking her with his fist. 

Richard continuously beat his wife in the face with his fist. Not hearing as Abraham entered the room, looking at Richard. The boy recognized what was happening, seeing his mother's bruised bloody face. Abraham rushed over, grabbing Richard by the coat and pulling with all his body weight. Richard turned around, peering down at his small son. He took the belt off his pants, lifting it up as if he were going to hit Abraham with it. But Alice scrambled to her feet, gripping the belt and jerking it out of Richard's hands. Richard stood stunned as Alice ran past him, running out of the bedroom and up the stairs. The sound of the two yellings continued as Richard chased his frightened wife. Abraham stood alone, quietly going into the hallway. The only noise was the ongoing argument.

"Felice?" Abraham began to whine for his sister, repeating the name over and over. 

Felice heard Abraham after he had repeated it a few times, not wanting to get out of her bedroom because she heard her father yelling which brought her absolute terror. Despite the fear, Felice left her bedroom and went into the hall. She looked at her brother, going to him. Abraham's back was turned but she could hear him crying. 

Felice hushed the small boy, holding her as he hid his face against her shoulder. "What's wrong.." She asked softly, running her hand through his hair. 

"papa was gonna hurt me and - and he so scary." The boy mumbled. 

She felt angry knowing Richard was going to hurt Abraham, he didn't deserve to be filled with such fear. But the young woman knew there was nothing she could do but comfort him. "I'm here now... Let's get you to bed." 

Felice carried Abraham down the hallway to his bedroom, lying him down. She could see Charlie was sound asleep, smiling slightly. Before turning her focus to the still crying Abraham, gently tucking him in. 

"I'm scared.." Abraham admitted.

"I know," Felice whispered, sitting on the bed. She gently pet his hair out of his face. "I can't promise it'll be okay, but... I can try and keep you safe, Abraham. I love you very much." She told her brother.

After a goodnight hug, Felice went back to her bedroom. Abraham lied in bed, it was still light outside. But it was late enough to sleep, just after dinner time. The sun would set soon.

By the time the sun had set, Abraham still couldn't sleep. Lying in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. He felt as if he was being watched suddenly, seeing Charlie was staring at him. 

"Abe?" Charlie whispered.

Abraham tried to ignore him, shutting his eyes to fake sleep. But he could hear Charlie's feet scuffling against the floor as Charlie approached his bedside.

"Abe," Charlie repeated, grabbing his brother's hair and gently tugging it.

He grumbled, looking back at Charlie. "What?" Abraham questioned why Charlie was bugging him.

"I can't sleep," Charlie said. 

"That's not my fault! Just--figure it out." Abraham insisted. Tugging the sheets up to his neck and closing his eyes tightly.

Charlie whined, sadly setting his chin onto the bed. "Can I sleep with you please, bubba?" He asked.

Abraham sighed loudly, sitting up. "Really?" Charlie nodded, holding his wooden doll which creeped Abraham out. "okay, but you aren't bringing that."

"Her name is Miss Buttons," Charlie stated as he set his doll back onto his bed, tucking it in.

"I don't care what her name is, she's spooky." Abraham insisted, sat up. He moved the blanket aside for Charlie to crawl in with him. "Now go to bed."

The room was silent for a moment before Charlie spoke. "Abraham can you tell me a story."

Abraham huffed. "Once there was a knight named Charles, Charles was a very handsome young knight for the Queen."

"Queen Charlotte?" Charlie asked. He was a very curious child, often asking unneeded questions.

"Sure, shut up I'm telling a story," Abraham replied. When Charlie remained silent, Abraham continued. "He was a very good knight, the King's favorite. And Charles was also the best friend of a man named hmmm... . Hmmm. Robert." 

"King George?" 

"Yes!" Abraham answered. "Why does it matter?"

Charlie shrugged a little, "I like the mon-er-chee." He said before looking back intently at Abraham as he continued the story.

"They were the bestest of friends, and they went on walks every single day in the palace garden. The end, goodnight." He ended the story short, shutting his eyes. 

Despite the very short story, it had put Charlie to sleep. The boys laid close together in the silent house, peacefully asleep in Abraham's bed.


	7. The Seven Year War

October 1rst, 1758

Abraham sat at his table, silent as his father stood at the front door. Speaking with William Greene who had come to visit. Or to just argue by the looks of it. It was Abraham's eighth birthday, but similar to the last eight. He didn't get gifts, or cake, or anything. It simply was just not something his family did, for Richard fully believed that it was an act of selfishness... as if he were one to talk. 

"Fine, I'm coming," Richard said to William before grabbing his satchel off the wall and slinging it over his shoulder. "Matthew, go get my guns."

"Yes father," Matthew replied, leaving the table and hurrying outside to the cellar. 

Abraham ate his bread, watching as William stepped inside. He was of average height, thin, with short white hair and a slight scruff. The man was intimidating, to say the least. But he seemed more hate-filled towards Richard than anyone else in the home. Matthew returned inside, holding a musket in each hand. Richard took them from him, putting them into his bag before stepping out of the house with Mr. Greene in toe.

"Wait!" Alice yelled from the table, getting off of her chair. She ran to the door, standing on the front steps as Richard stood by the carriage that Hannibal had readied for him. 

Richard's expression stiffened, narrowing his eyes as he turned to face his wife. "What," Richard replied. 

Alice walked towards him, looking up at him. "Where are you going, Richard?" Questioned the woman. 

"I'm going to the America's to assist the war effort," Richard stated. The man handed Alice a letter he had received from one of the higher-ranked soldiers. A man named Francis Martin, who was a General and also the cousin of Oliver Greene, had requested that Richard joined them as a Captain. 

"..When will you be back?" Asked Alice, watching as Richard turned back to the carriage. 

He sighed. Before huffing angrily. "I don't know, Alice! I'll be back when I'm back." He shouted, before getting into his carriage. 

She quietly watched him leave, watching the carriage swiftly disappear down the dirt pathway. Alice sighed, furrowing her eyebrows. She stepped back inside. "Your father is going to the war, he won't be back for a while," Alice informed the children.

"So he might die?" Giles asked a slight grin. "Thank God."

"Don't say that!" Yelled Matthew, furrowing his eyebrows. His angered expression mirrored the same face Richard made upon the feeling of rage, it brought Giles slight fear to watch as Matthew shifted more and more into their father as he aged.

Giles raised an eyebrow, Abraham could feel the tension between his brothers as they sat at the table across from one another. "Why not." Asked Giles. Saying it as more of a statement than a question.

"It is disrespectful." Grunted the younger brother, looking at nineteen-year-old Giles, who would be turning twenty that Christmas. 

As the two argued, five-year-old Joan sat by Abraham. She looked at her eight-year-old brother, smiling a bit. "happee birthday!" she said.

Abraham paused, shoving the rest of his bread into his mouth before looking at Joan. "Thanks, Joansy!" He replied.

"When it my birt-day?" Asked the infant.

He thought, before replying. "Not until June! You'll be.. six!" Abraham told her.

Joan looked up at him, her beautiful ginger hair at her shoulders. For a young girl, she had long delicate hair. "When next birthday?"

Abraham had to think, the next birthday would be baby Geneviève's. Her first birthday on October 20th. He informed his sister, before watching as Matthew rose from his seat with a frustrated expression. The sixteen-year-old stormed off to his bedroom with a huff, seeing Giles with a slight frown. His frown turned to a fake smile, looking at his younger siblings.

"Do you guys want some cake?" asked Giles, standing up. "I can make some, dad isn't home."

"Cake?" Abraham spoke with excitement in his voice, he didn't get treats a lot. The idea of cake on his birthday brought the young boy pure bliss. 

Giles nodded, his mutton-chop-incased face had a kind smile. "Some pound cake maybe, the hens laid a lot of eggs today. Perfect for pound cake." The man opened the cupboard, hearing his little siblings getting out of their seats to stand by him.

Joan and Abraham followed Giles around as he cooked, the two cooed in sync as Giles lit the fire in their oven. The bright flamed danced about the stove before Giles shut the door on the oven, looking back at his siblings.

Giles grinned. "Cool isn't it?" he asked, seeing them goggling at the fire. 

"Yeah!" Abraham said. "Can I light it someday?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, no. Maybe when you're older, Abe. But you're too little." He stated. 

Abraham seemed slightly disappointed, continuing to watch as Giles set a large pan onto the stovetop. He allowed the pan to heat as he mixed creamy butter and sugar into a bowl. Gently cracking at least ten into the bowl, delicately stirring after each one. Abraham brought the stool from next to the cupboard over to the counter, putting it right next to Giles and crawling onto it. Giles glanced at Abraham, watching his brother peek into the bowl.

"That's a lot of eggs!" Abraham giggled, Giles could hear the excitement in the child's voice. "Why so many eggs?"

"Makes it fluffy," Giles replied. "Trust me, it's really good."

Giles sifted flour into the bowl before he grabbed a lemon from the basket rested on the Livingroom table, returning to the bowl. He got a knife, scraping the outer skin off lightly into the bowl. Before he sliced the lemon in half and squeezed the juice into the bowl.

Abraham reached for the other half of the lemon. "Can I squeeze that one?" he requested. "Please?"

He nodded, handing it to Abraham. "Don't get it in your eyes. And wash your hands after."

Abraham giggled, he felt giddy as he squeezed the lemon. Juice gushed out of the fruit, bringing Abraham delight as he succeeded in juicing the lemon. He showed the squeezed lemon to Giles, grinning proudly. 

"Nice!" Giles praised his brother, taking it from him. He set the rind into a bowl of food waste by the sink, humming quietly as he poured the bowl mixture into the now hot pan. He allowed the pan to fry the cake, playing a few games of cards with his brother and sister as it cooked.

After an hour, Giles stood from the table. He walked to the stovetop, lifting the pan off and flipping the cake onto a plate. The pound cake smelt of lemons and sugar. Abraham ran over to Giles, seeing his brother sprinkle sugar on top of the still-hot cake.

"Don't touch." He insisted as Abraham reached up to the counter, gently pushing Abraham's hands away. Abraham appeared confused as Giles refused to allow him to touch the cake. "Once it cools I'll cut you a piece."

Abraham frowned, Joan, running up behind him. "I have too?" she asked, hugging onto Giles' lengthy legs. 

Giles set his hands under her arms, lifting her into his arms. "Of course." 

As promised, once the cake had cooled. Giles sliced two small pieces, setting them on separate plates and putting the plates on the table. He watched, smiling as Abraham and Joan ate. They seemed so happy.. it made Giles feel warm to see his siblings in such ecstasy.

The man paused, cutting another piece and walking to his mother's room. Giles approached Alice's bedside, she was turned on her side. He quietly peered over her limp body, seeing she was awake.

"Mama?" Giles whispered, holding the plate. "I have something for you."

Alice turned her head, looking at her son. "Yes..?" She asked.

Giles assisted her in sitting up, kissing her forehead before setting the plate into her lap. "I know you like lemons so.. put some lemon juice and stuff in it." They whispered.

She smiled, her tired eyes appeared sparkly with happiness. "Thank you, sweetheart." She told her son, taking a bite of the tasty food. 

"Of course, mama.." Giles happily replied, he quietly left her by herself in the room so that she could rest and eat her cake in peace. 

November 7th, 1758

Abraham ran about the yard, arms outstretched as he zoomed around the grassy backfield of the home. The sight of the barn, silo, and farm in the distance. He could see Rufus and Duncan working in the field, both Irishmen's faces were out of view. But their bodies appeared tired from the cold as the sun began to set on the treelined horizon. His father's newest servant, another Irishman named Arlo. Was working in the barn, helping Hannibal with the horses. Six-year-old Charlie ran off the porch step, going to Abraham. 

"Abe!" Charlie yelled, giggling as he ran with his arms outstretched to Abraham. "Play tag with me?" he requested, grabbing Abraham by the sleeve as Abraham slowed down.

"Okay!" Abraham replied, the two boys paused before Abraham touched his brother's arm. "Tag!" he said, before running off towards the shed next to the barn.

Charlie chased Abraham, wildly giggling as he ran after his brother. The boys chased each other around for nearly twenty minutes before Elizabeth stepped out on the porch. She and Felice stood side by side, watching the young boys play. 

"Should we stop them?" Asked Elizabeth. The twenty-two-year-old was dressed in a deep brown dress, her left eye was missing due to a childhood incident. Her ears had golden cross earrings, a gift from her grandmother Cecile prior to her passing.

Felice smiled at her brothers. "Maybe give them another minute or two, they're having so much fun." She smiled, leaning her head onto her sister's shoulder. 

They continued to watch Abraham and Charles, a moment of peace for the usually distressed family. Without Richard around, they seemed happier. As much as the girls hated to admit it, they both knew that life would be better without their father. 

"Ok, Abraham! Charlie! Bedtime." Elizabeth said after another ten minutes or so, she saw the boys come to a halt. Both looked at her in sync. "Come on!" She repeated.

Charlie ran over first, Abraham running after him. Charlie hurried down the hall to his bedroom, prepared to go to bed. Abraham stood by his sisters, stepping inside the kitchen with them. "Do I still have to go to bed early?" Abraham asked Felice.

"Of course," Felice stated. "Why wouldn't you have to? The sunset, that's bedtime for you, Mister." 

"I'm eight years old now!" Insisted the child, looking up at his sister. "Can I just stay up a little bit longer?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Guess the woods monster will eat you.." she stated.

Abraham paused, before shaking his head. "I'm not a little boy! You can't drink me with that anymore!" 

"Trick you?" Felice asked. "She isn't lying, the monster almost got me when I was eight!"

He appeared slightly concerned, looking back to Felice. "Really?" He asked. 

"For sure." She replied. "It was huge and so scary Abraham, it had big teeth and ears, and red eyes." 

"That sounds awfully scary, Felice," Elizabeth told her sister. "I'm glad it didn't get me."

Abraham looked back and forth as the two girls talked, sweating a bit. "Okay! Okay, I'm actually really tired, gooodnight!" Abraham faked a smile, frowning as he ran to his bed. 

Felice and Elizabeth smirked at each other before Felice walked down the hallway after Abraham. Watching his small foot duck into the doorway as he entered his room quickly. She peeked inside, seeing the boy cowering under his bedsheets. 

"Abraham?" Felice whispered, she noticed Charlie had already fallen asleep in his separate bed.

"What?" Abraham muttered, his voice muffled from the blanket.

Felice chuckled, walking over to his bedside. She set her hand onto his back through the thin blanket, narrowing her eyes. "Why are you hiding?"

"So the monster doesn't eat me." He said. Abraham poked his head out from under the sheet, looking at his sister with widened eyes.

She sat on his bed next to him, laying him down properly to tuck him in. The woman gently kissed her brother's forehead, sliding the blanket over him. "It won't get you as long as I'm here, Abe." 

"Promise?"

Felice nodded, looking at her sibling. "I promise, Abraham." 

She watched as the child drifted to sleep in his bed, standing to cross the room to Charlie's bedside. She gave him the same treatment, tucking him in with a kiss to the forehead. Before she left the boy's bedroom. In the hallway, she was met with Giles. Who had a firm grasp on a letter, his face appeared slightly angered.

"What's that?" Asked Felice, looking at the sealed note before looking at her brother. 

"A letter from your sweetheart." Giles huffed. "Another one." 

Felice took the letter from him, sighing. "You know I don't care for him.. I've talked to him a few times at the McMullen's house, but I've never responded to a single letter."

"Why don't you tell him to stop writing you then?" Pressured the man. "He writes every single day! Sometimes twice a day, it is absolutely bogus."

She sniffled, looking at the letter. "I don't know. some of them are nice." She replied. "I just would feel bad telling him to go.." 

Giles paused. "Well you should tell him to leave you be." he scoffed. "If you don't, you know when father comes back he will be absolutely furious to find all these letters." 

Before Felice could reply, Giles walked upstairs to his bedroom. Not allowing his sister to speak back. She held the letter, walking down the dim hall to her room which was diagonal from her parents'. The rose-colored wax seal glistened from the candle in her other hand, the reflection of light on the wax. Words on the delicate paper read 'My Dearest Felice', she was not surprised it was from Mr. Wolf. Despite her lack of information about the man, a part of her longed for him. Boaz Wolf was the only man who showed such affection, such adoration for Felice. She looked out her bedroom, thinking about the young handsome man who wrote her so often. The idea of marriage, with children of her own, brought Felice absolute joy. Just the idea of a man holding her close on her wedding day, as she wore a dress she hoped would be blue... The thought was intruded as Elizabeth entered their bedroom.

"Do you mind if I keep the candle lit to read a moment more?" Asked Elizabeth, holding a lit candle similar to Felice's.

Felice set hers on the window sill, the sight of a light snowfall filled the sky. "Yes, that's fine." She stated. 

Elizabeth noticed her sister's distant expression, seeing her saddened eyes. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm just a bit lonesome." Stated Felice. Moonlight spilled into the room, it shone upon her face. Showing the expression in her dark green eyes. Just like her mother's. 

"Oh?" Elizabeth questioned. "How so?"

Felice sighed. "I know father expects me to care for mother, but I just.. someday wish to marry." She said. "I don't know if I will ever get the choice to... I will be too old and ugly when I get the chance."

The older sister rose from her seat, approaching Felice. "Felice, if you want to get married you should be able to." She said. She set her hands onto Felice's shoulders. "You are a beautiful young woman, any man would be lucky to marry you."

"Mr. Wolf, just makes me feel quite special.." Felice muttered, her face flushed. "We danced at the McMullen's ball years ago, and he writes me every day.." She looked at the pile of letters on her desk, smiling. "His large hands, and kind face... They are all I think about."

Elizabeth grinned. "I bet he is absolutely lovely."

"He really is." Replied Felice, glancing at her sister. 

Her eyes followed Elizabeth as she returned to her bed, reopening the book she had placed down and beginning to read. Felice went back to looking out the window, longingly she stared at the snowfall that slowly began to heavy. It was beautiful. The two girls eventually went to their beds, going to sleep for the night as it continued snowing. 

Giles awoke to screaming outside, hearing a heated argument as he scrambled from his bed. Seeing Hercules in the psychical fight with Oliver Martin. Giles looked as Oliver shoved Hercules over, hitting him with what appeared to be a mallet. "HEY!" Giles yelled out the window, unheard by the two men. They pulled on their trousers, sprinting down the stairs. He ran out the door towards them, headbutting Oliver as hard as he could. The large nineteen-year-old who stood three inches under seven-foot, weighing about two hundred pounds. They easily caused Oliver to tumble over into the grass, grabbing the man by the jacket.

"What is the meaning of this?" Asked Giles, angered as Hercules rose to his feet with a bruised and bloodied forehead. 

Oliver huffed, his aged face was bitter and disgusted. "He continuously brings my mail late, it is time he pays."

"What?" Asked Giles. "That is ridiculous, he delivers the mail in time."

"He should give me mine first, I am a very important man!" Replied Oliver, his entitled attitude continued as he stood. He hurled his mallet at the Latin postrider, watching as Hercules ducked.

Hercules shouted. "You leave me alone! I deliver when I deliver, you deal with it!" Holding his satchel filled with letters on his hip.

"GIVE ME MY MAIL!" Oliver yelled at him. He lunged for the satchel, Hercules moving out of the way and spitting at him. 

Giles got between them, huffing. "You two will not be arguing in my yard like this, my siblings are children and they are asleep. They do not need to hear this nonsense."

"You will wait for your mail, you dirty man," Hercules told Oliver, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Just stop arguing, you go deliver your mail," Giles stated, shooing Hercules away. They waited for the postrider to leave, before turning to Oliver. "You go home. Isn't my father fighting with your brother right now? Why aren't you there?"

Oliver poked Giles in the chest. "That is none of your business, get away from me." He shoved Giles after the poke. 

"You will not come into my yard and give me this sort attitude, sir." Said Giles.

Abraham peered out the window, watching as his brother shouted at forty-eight-year-old Mr. Martin, a close friend of his father's.


	8. The Silo Accident

December 2nd, 1760

Abraham circled his spoon around in his dish during breakfast, he hadn't seen his father in the past two years. Twenty-one-year-old Giles sat across from him, his face red as he snuffled. Congested due to an ongoing fever. The man slumped over, groaning.

"Are you okay?" Abraham questioned, leaning over the table to look at his tired sibling.

Giles shook his head. "I feel like absolute rubbish," he replied, sitting upright. "I don't want to do chores."

"What are your chores?" He asked. "I'll do them for you! Can't be that hard." Abraham knew Giles was an adult, therefore he had more and harder chores than young Abraham. But Abraham believed he would be able to finish them for his brother.

"Well I have to get the hay from the silo, and then feed the horses. And then help Hannibal and Rufus with putting new feed into the other silo before the New Years' occurs, and then I must help with the final harvest. We do not want everything to freeze over." They listed, waving their hand about as they spoke.

Abraham took note of what Giles had said, nodding his head slowly. "I can probably do that! You should go back to bed."

Giles rose from his seat, gladly taking their brother's office. They walked around the table, ruffling Abraham's auburn curls. "Thanks," he muttered, snuffling before slugging upstairs to their chambers.

He watched Giles go, writing on his notebook rested on the table.

'1. Retrieve hay from the silo  
2\. feed the horse   
3\. help Hannibal and Rufus  
4\. help harvest stuff'

Abraham finished writing, setting his quill back onto the table. He clasped his cup with both hands, sipping the juice he had poured for himself. Sweet lemon juice with extra sugar, he enjoyed the lemons they often received from their father's French friend. Pierre Bechard. Who would bring them wonderous things from the pompous life he had in France. He finished his drink, setting the cup back onto the table. Sliding out of his seat, he made his way to the kitchen door. Abraham picked up his shoes, putting them on and buckling them tightly. Dressed in a beige tailless overcoat, a tight chest piece with light pink puffed-out sleeves. It had a taller neck, a dark beige with a pointed out lapel. 

"Abreham!" A small voice shouted behind him from the Livingroom, Abraham glanced over his shoulder.

There stood his small cousin Hugo, the two-year-old stood in his small gown. Wide-eyed looking at Abraham. Clement had dropped off his sons earlier to be babysat while he and his wife attended a dinner, Hugo was two while Alexander was five. 

"Yes?" Abraham replied, his foot on the chair as he finished buckling his shoes. 

Hugo smiled, toddling towards Abraham. The infant gently grabbed Abraham's shoe. "What this?"

"My shoe." He stated. "I'm going to go do big-boy chores for Giles," he replied, smiling smugly. 

"ooo." Hugo cooed. "I go too."

Abraham paused. He nodded, picking up Hugo. "You can come! I'll just carry you." Abraham grabbed his jacket, instead of putting it on himself, he slid it over Hugo's small shoulders to keep the child warm.

The two headed outside towards the large barn, Abraham carrying his nephew in his arms. They crossed the yard to the three large stone silos, they stood at least twenty feet tall. Long wooden ladders up the side, ice sheeted over the rocky side of the gigantic, filled silos. Abraham placed Hugo down onto the ground, wrapping him in the jacket so he would not freeze.

"Stay right here," Abraham told Hugo. 

"Brr.." The toddler whimpered, rubbing at his sides to show he was cold.

Abraham paused, before taking off his own shirt. Being left in a thin white undershirt. He slid the beige shirt over Hugo, hearing the child coo as it was pulled over him. "That better?" He questioned.

Hugo nodded, sticking the sleeve of Abraham's shirt into his mouth as he sat in it. Abraham smiled, turning back to the silo. He approached the bottom of the ladder, staring up to the top. There was the opening, a small wooden door to retrieve hay from the silo, also to add new hay on top. 

He felt the wooden bar on the ladder with his bare hands, the icy frozen wood made his hands sting. But Abraham ignored the discomfort, making his way up the ladder. The wood creaked with each step as if it would snap underneath his lightweight. The winter made the wood weaker, the dry air sucking any moisture from within the bark. Upon reaching the top, Abraham pushed open the door. Despite the fact it was small, it was heavy. The wetness of snow on top of it had completely frozen the wooden door. With all his might, he pushed the door open. Abraham huffed. He stared down into the dark silo, seeing hay not too far from the top. The small boy leaned over the edge, reaching down with his own hands. Unaware he was supposed to be using the pitchfork which leaned against the side of the silo. Continuing to lean, Abraham failed to reach. Pushing himself further and further until he lost his footing, falling headfirst into the silo. The door began to close, catching Abraham's foot between the heavy door and the metal siding. Abraham cried out, slamming into the side of the silo as his fall was cut short by the door snatching his foot. He felt excruciating pain in his ankle, trying to get out. Abraham set his hands onto the side of the silo, pushing himself upwards. But every time he tried to slide upward, his hands would slip on the metal siding. Out of desperation, he began to scream. Continuing to cry and yell for over half an hour in the freezing cold, feeling blood rush to his head, groaning.

An hour in the bitter cold made Abraham feel hopeless, his ankle numbed as he hung there. His shoe had slipped off in his struggle, Abraham accepted death. Assuming he would freeze inside the silo and be found next Spring. He pouted, the thought of death scared him, his lip pouted as he began to cry. He could faintly hear Hugo crying outside, would he die too? Out in the cold? It would be all Abraham's fault, he shouldn't have brought Hugo at all.

Clement arrived home to retrieve his old pants he had left, wanting the specific green ones he used to wear when he was younger now that he was thinner. As he tied his horse in the barn, he heard a familiar cry. Loud screaming, just outside the barn door. The father easily recognized his infant son crying, rushing outside. Clement looked around, seeing Hugo by himself by the silo. Appearing as if he were trying to stand up but continuously falling into a large shirt he was in, Clement raced to his child, picking him up. 

"I'm here," he whispered, holding Hugo on his shoulder and rubbing his back. Watching as Hugo whimpered and shivered. 

Hannibal followed, looking at Clement and Hugo. As the man brought his son inside, Hannibal squinted. Wondering how Hugo had gone so far by himself. Hannibal crouched, looking at where Hugo had been. He saw footprints, nearly gone due to snow. They were too big to be Hugo's but too small to be one of the older children or adults. Hannibal raised an eyebrow, looking around for the other child. It had to be either Joan, Abraham, Charlie, Mercy, or maybe Catherine and Margaret. They wouldn't have left their nephew out there like that, but he didn't see any other child around. In the examination, he noticed there was a lump in the sheet of snow as it lightly snowed that December morning. Hannibal stepped towards it, nudging it with his foot. There was a small red shoe, with buckles tight on it. There appeared to be blood on the white insides around the ankle and on the side. Hannibal examined the shoe, recognizing it as the young Abraham's. He glanced around the footprints that approached the silo. Had never left. Confusion filled his brain, and then it hit him. Hannibal looked up the ladder, seeing the silo door had shut. The ice around its edge was cracked, it had been opened. The twenty-four-year-old quickly made his way up the ladder. Hurrying to the door and shoving it open. He saw Abraham head first in the hay, appearing unconscious as his legs slumped over, sticking out of the hay. Hannibal reached for his foot, unable to grab it. He thought quickly, hurrying back down the ladder and going into the barn. He looked at the wall of tools, grabbing the fire poker. Hannibal reopened the gate. 

"Abraham?" Hannibal yelled, using the wrong end of the fire poker to jab at him. Trying to see if he was unconscious or not. The boy didn't reply. Hannibal flipped the poker around, carefully shoving it down his pant leg and stabbing the sharp part through the fabric of his pants. He lifted Abraham enough to grab at his ankle without de-panting him. Hannibal pulled him up by the leg, seeing his shoeless foot was bloodied and bruised. 

Abraham seemed to stir, looking at Hannibal with tired eyes. Hannibal chuckled lightly, holding him close and rubbing his arm in an attempt to warm him. "I'm glad to see you are alright, my friend," Hannibal said, lowering down the ladder carefully as he held the ten-year-old. He brought Abraham indoors.

"Is that Abraham? What happened?" Clement asked as he sat at the table with Felice and Margaret. 

Hannibal didn't answer, he didn't have the time. He rushed Abraham to the fireplace, laying him onto the floor and wrapping him within a blanket before he lit the logs aflame. Hannibal sat by the boy, rubbing his sides to try and warm him up. Abraham stirred, sniffling. He was awake but seemed very cold. Once Abraham warmed up slightly, Hannibal moved to examine his ankle. It was bruised, scraped around from the metal digging into his skin. 

"Does this hurt?" Hannibal moved Abraham's ankle, looking at him.

"I can't feel my legs," Abraham mumbled, still quite numb from being in the frozen temperatures. 

Hannibal maneuvered Abraham's ankle in a circle, it didn't appear broken, it moved normally. Not too loose not too stiff. Clement and the girls stood nearby, looking down at the two.

Clement asked. "Is he ok?" 

He glanced at Clement, before standing. "Yes," he stated. "Can you get me a bandage and a wet towel?" Hannibal asked. 

"Uhm, you aren't supposed to be bossing me around. You're my father's servant, and I'm his son. Not the other way around." Clement argued, furrowing his eyebrows with ignorance.

Hannibal sighed before Margaret spoke up. "I'll go get it!" she told him, rushing off. Felice followed her, the two girls retrieving what Hannibal had asked for while Clement stayed put. Upon getting the needed materials, Hannibal sat back by Abraham. Pressing the wet cloth onto the gash. Once the bleeding slowed, he wrapped his ankle tightly in a bandage. They noticed Abraham had fallen asleep at some point in the past twenty minutes, snoring lightly between snuffles. 

"He fell into the silo." Hannibal began to explain as he picked hay out of Abraham's hair, his voice low so the child could sleep. "I'm not sure what he was doing."

Clement remembered seeing Giles asleep earlier, he knew it was Giles' job to deal with anything involving the silo. The older brother left the bedroom, as he passed the kitchen he saw Abraham's notebook on the table. Clement read over the list, it was Giles' chores. He gritted his teeth, realizing Giles had gotten the boy to do his chores for him. 'That lazy good-for-nothing' Clement thought as he headed upstairs to the bedroom he once shared with his younger brother, seeing Giles curled in bed where he had been an hour before. 

"GILES," Clement yelled, leaning over the bed. He roughly shook the twenty-one-year-old. 

Giles stirred, grunting. "Hmmn..?" he mumbled, his eyes remaining shut with exhaustion. 

He pushed Giles out of bed, the man hitting the floor with a loud thud. Giles whined as he stood up, his flushed, ill face appeared confused and upset. 

"What's your problem?" Asked Giles, opening his heavy eyes to look at the angered Clement.

"You made Abraham do your chores for you?" Clement said knowingly, his face scrunched with anger. 

Giles paused. "No, he offered." He replied.

"He's ten and you made him go into the silo by himself? Did you know he fell in and could've DIED? And it would be all your fault. You almost killed Abraham." Clement raised his voice as he spoke, poking Giles in the chest. 

They didn't speak for a moment. "I'm sorry-"

"You aren't sorry, because you always expect others to do shit for you. You're useless." Clement interrupted, seething with rage.

Giles furrowed their eyebrows. "Now that just isn't true!" He defended himself. "I'm always the one around here doing stuff, protecting mom, protecting Miss Clifton, protecting our siblings. You never protected me when I was a child you just sat there and let it happen, so I'm just doing my fucking best to make sure those kids aren't as messed up as we are."

"So you act like this because you're pissed off about the fact dad hit you and touched you the most?" Clement asked, bringing up old trauma to upset his younger brother.

The memories seemed to push Giles over the limit, lunging at Clement and pushing him into a wall as he grasped his throat. The two fought in their once shared bedroom years ago, where they used to hide from Richard under their beds and play with their toys to distract each other. Back when things were good. Clement shoved Giles off of him, throwing the bigger man onto the ground and stepping onto his chest.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing attacking me, what are you. A dog?" Clement questioned, peering down at Giles.

Giles huffed, tears in his eyes from thoughts reoccurring of a time long ago. A time before bravery and courage to fight back, when they were the victim to their father. The thought of it hurt. He gave up on fighting back, standing up as Clement left the room. They watched Clement leave, feeling shame for "making" Abraham do his chores. He waited a moment to collect himself, before going downstairs. Giles entered the Livingroom, looking at Abraham with pity.

Giles sat on the floor next to him, looking at Abraham. "I'm sorry." He apologized.

Abraham opened his eyes, looking up to Giles. "Can you show me how to get the hay out? So I don't fall in next time I do it?" Abraham muttered, sounding strained.

Giles chuckled lightly. "You won't be doing it again. I can do it." They stated.

"Oh," Abraham mumbled.

He kissed his brother's forehead. "I'm so glad you're okay," Giles said.

Hannibal stood to the side, watching as Giles and Abraham shared the kind moment. It made Hannibal wish he had a family. Maybe someday once he could afford to move off, he would meet a man. They could move in together perhaps.. and Hannibal would adopt a child of his own while sharing the forbidden romance he so desired.

"Mr. Hannibal got me out," Abraham informed Giles, still quiet as he pointed at the man who was lost in thought.

Giles paused. "Did he?" He asked. Watching Abraham nod his head. "You relax, I'll get you changed into pajamas and in bed soon." Giles rose to his feet, approaching Hannibal.

"Mr. Wilson," Hannibal stated. "Do you need something?"

"Thank you," Giles said.

Hannibal appeared slightly confused. "Excuse me?"

"For getting Abraham out of the silo." He explained. "Thank you."

Hannibal blinked a few times, feeling himself flush slightly. "Oh." He wasn't used to 'thank yous' from the Wilson family, nodding. "You're. Very welcome. I am glad to be in assistance."

Giles smiled, turning back to Abraham and picking him up. He carried Abraham to his room, allowing Abraham to change before he picked his brother back up. Setting him into his bed. Giles gently tucked him in, watching as he drifted to sleep in his warm bed.

Just as he left, Charlie spoke up from his bed. "Mr. Giles?"

Giles stopped, looking over his shoulder. "Oh. Hello, Richard."

Charlie crawled out from under his blanket, approaching Giles. "I don't have a big brother."

"Uhm." They muttered. "Okay?"

"Can you be my big brother so I have one?" Charlie asked politely. "Abraham always talks about his 'big brothers' and I want one too."

Giles thought for a moment. "Sure." He replied.


	9. Charlie's Letter

December 20th, 1760

Charlie struggled to write properly as he sat at the desk in Abraham and his own bedroom, Abraham on the bed behind him with his healing ankle rested on a pillow. Writing furiously into his journal, the ten-year-old humming quietly. It would be Christmas soon, very, very soon. Which also meant it would be Giles' twenty-second birthday. Charlie was filled with excitement for the occasion but slightly saddened that Richard would not be returning home. Young Charlie was too ignorant to the facts that Richard was a horrid, disgusting man. Still believing he was just his.. slightly odd father. In the room walked Mercy, dressed in her coat and boots.

"We are going to the chocolate shop for cocoa." Mercy told her brother, setting her hand on his head to stroke his hair. "Would you like to come?"

Charlie beamed, nodding. "Yes!" he replied, getting out of his seat. "Can I have my own cup this time?" Asked the boy, looking at his sister.

"Probably." Stated Mercy. "You would have to ask mama." The thirteen-year-old watched her bouncy brother run out of the room, going to ask his mother the same question. Mercy turned her head, now looking at Abraham. "Are you coming?" She asked, a lack of excitement in her voice.

"Why are you asking me, you hate me," Abraham questioned her, not looking up from his notebook.

Mercy huffed through her nose. "Because I am polite and my mother told me to ask you." She said.

Abraham shrugged. Setting his book down, he got out of bed, feeling pressure on his ankle as he grunted. "Oh." he winced, reaching down to feel his wrapped ankle.

"Does it still hurt?" Asked Mercy.

"Quite a bit." He muttered, rubbing his fingers over the bandages before he stood upright. "I will be out in a moment, I have to change."

Mercy nodded, leaving to allow Abraham to dress himself. He changed into thicker slacks, made of wool. They were a deep green, matching the jacket he put on afterward. The cocoa shop was a half an hour carriage ride, and it appeared to be snowing out that afternoon. Once dressed he exited his chambers, making his way to the recently redecorated drawing-room. Designed by Richard despite it usually being the job of the woman in the home, but the ailing Alice was unable to leave her bed recently.

"Abraham!" Patience smiled, attempting every day to make peace with Alice's children. "It is splendid that you have decided to join us."

Abraham huffed, adverting his eyes. He could see Mercy furrow her eyebrows at him, squinting slightly with anger in her eyes. Joan, Abraham, Charlie, and Mercy all went into the carriage with Patience. Hannibal sat in the front seat, speaking to himself quietly before turning in his seat.

"Are you ready to leave, Miss Clifton?" he asked, their usual dull expression on their face.

Patience looked at the children, then nodded. "Yes," she stated, her hands rested on her lap in a proper manner as she dressed her usual deep blue dress and wrapping ribbon around her thin neck.

The carriage ride was filled with silence as they trotted down the unusually quiet streets of London, lack of a fuss due to the weather. Everyone must have been indoors. Abraham looked off as they passed homes and businesses, plenty of tailor shops and inns littered London. As he stared off, deep in thought. He heard Charlie speaking with his mother.

"I'm going to write a letter to father!" Charlie told his mom, sat next to her. He put his hands onto her lap and looked up at her. "I just want to say Merry Christmas. He must be lonely!"

Abraham grimaced at the pity Charlie seemed to have for their menacing father, he had lost such innocence and blind-minded bliss years prior when the hitting and the odd movements with his father began around Abraham's eighth birthday. He had gone from ignoring Abraham, to constantly yelling at him over something or tormenting him when they were left alone. Abraham hated it, he didn't know why it felt odd but nothing about how his father acted seemed right.

"Very exciting, my love." Patience replied, pinching Charlie's fat cheek.

Charlie giggled, happy with his mother's approval as he crawled over her and his sister to get a look out the carriage door. Abraham kept Joan close, not wanting Charlie to accidentally kick her as he leaned over the other passengers.

"It's snowin' an awful lot." He informed, wriggling himself into the seat next to the door. Causing Patience to scoot next to Joan where Charlie had sat originally so that Mercy could move over as well.

Patience nodded. She grabbed Charlie by the coat, tugging lightly as he tried to lean out of the window. "On your bottom."

Charlie looked back before taking his seat. "Yes mama." he grinned, missing a couple of his front teeth.

As they reached their destination, Hannibal remained in the carriage as the Clifton's and the two Wilson children headed indoors. The cocoa shop was quite in style, just built a few months ago and owned by Mr. Abraham Cample, young Abraham didn't spot the man. Only his son Israel Cample behind the wooden counter.

"Hello, Miss. Clifton!" They greeted, looking to be about Giles' age. Joan ran up to the counter before Abraham could hold her back, squirming into one of the seats. Israel leaned over the counter. "And who are you misses?"

Joan giggled. "Joe!" She replied.

"Her name's Joan." Abraham quickly corrected, sitting by his sister as the others sat down as well. "She's only seven."

"Well, that's quite old if I do say so myself." Israel joked as he poured the hot beverage into mugs, looking back at the family. "When did ya turn seven, sweetheart?"

Joan looked at him, then at her hands. "Uhm," she muttered, turning to look at Abraham.

"June." Whispered Abraham.

"JUNE!!" yelled the young girl, smacking her hands onto the table.

Israel nodded, bringing the cups over to the table for them. "Well, here ya go." He said. "Are you payin'?" He asked Joan.

Joan paused, nodding a bit. She retrieved an acorn from her pocket and slid it over to Israel as Patience watched with slight amusement.

"Thanks," he replied, putting the acorn into the pocket of his pants before taking some shillings from Patience. "Enjoy ya drinks, I don't think anyone else comin' in with this weather."

Abraham sipped at the cup, the drink was quite frothy. As he looked over he could see the froth over Joan's lip as she gulped down the liquid.

"Don't chug it, you could hurt your throat," Abraham told his sister, seeing Joan giving him a dirty look as she protectively held her cup. "I don't want your drink! Just don't chug it!"

In the room walked a familiar face, George Inn. Bundled in a jacket as the man grumbled and shuddered. He sat down, sitting at a table in the corner as he removed his gloves to rub his temples. Abraham looked over at him, it seemed as if George was attempting to avoid them. He looked over to see Patience was distracted, before getting out of his seat and approaching George.

"Hello." Abraham greeted.

George looked up, a long pause before replying. "Hey, Abe." Israel brought George his drink, a tall glass of ale. George drank the deep yellow liquid, slumped back in his seat.

"Gross." He stated, watching George give him a slightly irritated look with his eyes.

"Mind your business." George huffed. "I drink what I drink an' you drink what you drink."

The boy paused. "I got hot cocoa, do you want to try it?"

"Not really."

George looked at Abraham's disappointed face after he denied his offer, sighing. "Alright." He sighed. "Bring it, I'll try it."

Abraham smiled, walking back to the counter. He could feel Patience watching him as Abraham brought the mug to George. She could tell George was drunk just by looking at him, keeping a careful eye on the two.

Abraham slid the cup over to George. "It's really good, I promise." Insisted Abraham.

"Mhm." Muttered George, sipping at the cup. "It's. Alright." He replied. "It'd be better with some of booze y'know."

"No.. not really," Abraham replied, he really didn't know why George liked beer with absolutely everything he ate or drink. Every time he saw George he was drinking.

George paused, looking down at Abraham's shoes as they lipped slightly. "What'd you do to your er, foot." He spat as he spoke, setting his cup down to turn in his chair. Hands-on his knees as he inspected the boy's foot.

"I fell into the silo, snagged my foot onto the siding." Explained Abraham. "Got really infected but it's healing now."

"Let me see." George grabbed Abraham's ankle, lifting his leg. Abraham tumbled backward, hitting the floor with a thump. "Oops."

Patience stood up, heading over to help Abraham stand. "Mr. Inn!" She scowled. "That is highly improper!" She held Abraham's shoulders firmly as he dusted off the back of his pants.

Abraham squirmed from her grasp. "Mind your business!" he said, repeating what George had said earlier.

Patience stood still in the silent inn, before sighing. "My apologies." She mumbled, returning to her seat. Abraham could see the angered expression of Mercy staring at him, getting out of her seat. "Mercy?"

Mercy stomped to Abraham, not replying to her mother. George looked away, whistling as Mercy socked Abraham in the jaw with her velvet mittens.

"OW?" Abraham yelled, holding his sore chin. He shoved Mercy away, grumbling as he nursed his jaw. "Why did you do that?"

"Because you are being an absolute imbecile!" She yelled. "If I have to listen to your mother then you will at the very least respect mine!"

Patience returned to the commotion, sighing. "It is alright, Mercy, dear," she said, her voice softly saddened by the fact her daughter had to defend her. "Let's go home."

"Bye, bye." Israel waved to Joan, smiling ear to ear as she vigorously waved her mitten-covered hand at him.

They all returned to the carriage, Mercy, and Abraham scowling at each other as they walked down the snow-covered road to where Hannibal had put the carriage. He was huddled in his seat, appearing to have dozed off. Patience gently shook the man's shoulder, watching as they jerked awake.

"Miss. Clifton," Hannibal said, adjusting his tricorne before rubbing his sleep-filled eyes. He hopped out, opening the side door for them. Abraham, Joan, Patience, Mercy, and then Charlie got into the wooden carriage.

"Thank you, Hannibal." Patience smiled.

Hannibal nodded, shutting the door. He closed the small latch before getting into his driver's seat, sitting with a huff as he grabbed the reins. The carriage began to move calmly, the snowfall soothed Abraham's jaw as he stared into the glistening white abyss, a sheet of snow-covered his world. The snow always made Abraham happy, the way the snowflakes danced about before falling within the white ground seemed blissful and harmless. The thought of peace was intruded by Charlie yanking Abraham's ponytail.

"We're home!" Charlie yelled into Abraham's ear, making his older half-brother grumble. "You fell asleep."

"I wasn't asleep, my eyes were closed." Abraham insisted, stepping out of the carriage.

Charlie followed Abraham as he walked down the hallway to their bedroom. "That sounds like sleeping to me, baba."

Abraham gritted his teeth, still irritated from the Patience and Mercy situation. "I wasn't sleeping!" he claimed with a firm tone.

Startled slightly, Charlie did not stand his ground. Simply watching as Abraham sat in bed, sighing and flopping onto the mattress. "I'm going to write a letter, can you light the candle for me?"

He groaned. "I just laid down!" Abraham said, rolling onto his side. His ankle was killing him with a throbbing aching feeling from walking about so much.

"Please?" Charlie requested once more.

Abraham sat back up, sliding out of bed. He grabbed a match, striking it aflame. Charlie watched the light reflect on his brother's auburn hair, making it look like fire or honey from the glittery flame. Abraham lit the candle for Charlie before returning to his bed, lying down. As Charlie sat down to write he could hear Abraham's subtle snores as he drifted to sleep, ever since he hurt his ankle he had been a lot grouchier and more tired. But Charlie didn't mind.

'Dear papa,

Hello, it is your sone Richhard Junor .I am writeing you this to wish you a marry Chritmas! I miss you papa, come back soone please.

Love, Charlie.'

The boy looked at his letter, tongue out slightly with focus. He smiled, delighted with his work. He looked to Abraham's side of the desk, seeing the multiple poems and stories his brother had written... well, more of half-written. Abraham was too critical, often getting frustrated and not finishing his work. But Charlie greatly enjoyed everything his brother made. He saw a familiar tool on the desk, Abraham's wax seal he had gotten for his tenth birthday from Uncle Geoffrey. Geoffrey was Richard's older brother, a nice man. Having a few children with his wife, Cornelia. The oldest being Charlie's absolute favorite cousin, cousin Bazel. He and Abraham wrote often, Charlie wished he could write better so he could write big cousin Bazel. Bazel was fourteen years Charlie's senior, having the same birthday as Giles.

Charlie grabbed the wax seal, examining it. He looked back at Abraham, making sure he was asleep. Then grabbed the candle, carefully dripping some of the wax over his letter. The golden-colored wax fell onto the page before Charlie stamped the seal down. Once he lifted it, he saw on the hardened wax. "AFW". What did that stand for? He shrugged, setting the letter aside and carefully setting Abraham's stamp back in place. Getting out of his chair and going to the window. The sun was setting within the snowfall, Charlie yawned, stretching out his arms and scurrying to his bed as Patience walked in.

"Charlie?" Patience whispered, looking into the dim room. She noticed the still-lit candle and walked towards it, extinguishing it with a gentle blow. "Charlie." She repeated. "I know you are awake."

"Yes?" Charlie said, sitting up.

Patience walked towards his bed, sitting down. "What are you doing up?" She asked.

"I was writing a letter to papa! I told you I was going to, remember?" He stated, crawling into her lap.

She began to gently stroke her child's hair, smiling lovingly. "Of course, I remember now.." She whispered. "You must go to sleep my little one."

"I'm not tired." Charlie lied, looking up at her.

Patience gently began to tuck his hair out of his face, his head leaning into the warmth of her palm. "Would you like if mommy sang you a lullaby?"

"Yes please." He requested.

"Then you must lie down, and I will think of a song for you." She cooed, Charlie crawled out of her lap and under his sheets, peeking out from under them to look at his angelic mother. Patience softly began to sing to her son, a hand rested on his chest as he listened.

"Down in the valley, valley so low  
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow  
Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow  
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.  
Roses love sunshine, violets love dew  
Angels in heaven know I love you  
Know I love you, dear, know I love you  
Angels in heaven, know I love you.  
Writing this letter, containing three lines  
Answer my question, "Will you be mine?"  
"Will you be mine, dear, will you be mine?"  
Answer my question, "Will you be mine?"  
Down in the valley, valley so low  
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow  
Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow  
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow."

She finished the short lullaby as Charlie fell asleep, soft snores emitting from him as he curled within his woolen blanket. Patience gently tucked him in, kissing his temple before leaving the bedroom.

Charlie awoke the next day, seeing the empty bed across the room. He felt giddy, perhaps the postrider hadn't come yet and he would be able to send his letter off! Charlie rushed to put on his trousers and shirt, grabbing the letter off the desk as he sprinted down the hallway.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Margaret asked as she cleaned the dishes from breakfast.

Charlie turned quickly to her. "Has the postrider came?" He questioned, his voice hurried.

"I don't think so," Margaret replied, watching as he bolted out of the kitchen door to eagerly stand on the deck. Her twin sister Catherine stood behind her, the two of them looking out the kitchen window at Charlie who was shaking with excitement.

"What.. is he up to?" Asked Catherine.

"Not sure." Replied the other fourteen-year-old.

The girls shrugged and continued their chores as Charlie heard a familiar noise coming down the trail, Hercules! The man appeared at the edge of the forest, on his horse with his large satchel. Adrenaline filled Charlie, he ran across the yard barefoot. Running to Hercules.

"Woah!" Hercules stopped the horse as to not accidentally trample Charlie, looking down at him. "What do you have for me?"

Charlie panted, handing him the letter. "For my father!"

"Richard?"

"Yeah!" Charlie replied, heaving a bit as Hercules handed him the mail.

He smiled. "I'll make sure it gets to him," Hercules replied, tucking the letter into his satchel before racing off across the yard to go to the next house.

Charlie looked at the letters, seeing a familiar name. "Praise McMullen", one of Abraham's best friends! Without thinking, Charlie tore the letter open.

"Dearest, Abraham

I write to inform you of my inconvenience within my family to your own and to warn you of the prior knowledge I have conceived from overhearing the personal conversation. I fret you are within danger, due to your father's prior ruckus within London society. My father is planning to ruin him with help of Sir. Augustus O'Brian as well as Mr. George Thomas... I wish this letter reaches you within the time of preparation for the worst as this war closes soon. Hope to see you this December thirtieth if convenient to you, to have a tête-à-tête for this ongoing situation.

Sincerely, P. Mull"


	10. The War Comes To A Close

December 30th, 1760

Abraham stood in their planned meeting spot, the chilled air nipped at his delicate skin as he waited for Praise to arrive. Staring down the snow-covered beaten pathway. The way the trees shook from the January breeze felt so subtle in such a peaceful manner as he heard the familiar crunching of snow behind him. Abraham turned, there stood his companion. Praise McMullen. They kept their distance.

"I suppose you received my letter, Abraham." Praise said, his deep blue eyes stood out on his pale skin and delicate blonde curls. 

"I did," Abraham replied, holding the letter in his red-knuckled hands. 

Praise nodded. "Yes.. well." he began. "My father as I notified you of, is planning to bring quite the fuss in an anonymous paper highlight about your father and his church." 

Abraham rubbed his cold hands together as he listened to Praise. "But. Why?" he asked.

"Adults are strange, they do strange things. They hurt each other, and cause uproar for the sake of their own ego." Praise explained. "As I am sure you know."

He nodded slightly. "Yeah." 

There was a slight pause, Praise glancing at Abraham's bitterly cold fingers from the light snowfall. He stepped towards his classmate and neighbor, removing his own gloves and handing them to Abraham.

"Oh, no. I'm okay." Abraham assured him.

"I insist you take them." Praise muttered. "The walk back to your house is much longer, you do not want to risk frostbite."

Abraham hesitated, before taking the beige gloves, embroidered with a flowery design around the cuff. "Thank you."

Praise nodded, looking away. "Well." he said. "he will not do this until your father returns from the war, I suggest you tell your brothers so they can prepare your family." Praise set his hand onto Abraham's shoulder. "I wish you the best of luck."

Abraham glanced at Praise's hand, his face felt warm. He was just so cold a moment ago but now his face felt like it was on fire. "Thank you, Praise."

January 19th, 1761

"My birthday!" Charlie yelled, stomping into the sitting room.

Alice and Patience both looked at Charlie, Giles sat right by his mother. "Happy birthday," Giles said.

"Thank you," Charlie replied smugly, hands on his hips as he lifted his head. "I am now nine, and therefore. You will extend my bedtime!" He pointed at his mother.

Patience raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You will-please-extend my bedtime!" Charlie repeated.

Patience glanced at her book, Amelia by Henry Fielding. She wished she had a marriage like the couple in the book or was married at all. She had been told by Richard multiple times they would marry, and as much as she didn't want to, she knew it was her best and only option. 

"I'll consider it." She chuckled lightly, flipping a page. 

"Thank you, mommy!" Charlie smiled. "Love you!"

Patience giggled. "I love you too, honey." 

Across the sea, Richard laid in his tent. Still asleep early that Monday morning, until the sixty-one-year-old was awoke by someone entering his tent. The heavy fabric closed as a man entered. 

"General Wilson." the heavy voice spoke, the behemoth of a man stood in Richard's tent, slightly hunched over as he was too tall for the tent. 

Richard grunted, peeling his eyes open. "What." 

"A letter." They said, a thick French accent in his voice. The man had light brown skin, pale blue eyes with a large nose, and sunken eyes. His hair black, straight, it fell to his shoulders. Dressed in prison attire, a prisoner for the French's newly Bagne of Toulon. A large port that housed the French Mediterranean fleet. Able-bodied prisoners would be housed there from the gallows to pull in the large ships to their ports, and this man obviously fit the description of said prisoners.

"From whom," Richard questioned, hoping it would be from Oliver Martin or perhaps George Thomas. 

The man glanced at the letter, grumbling for a moment. His face appeared frustrated as he attempting to read the letter. 

"Go on, read it." He mocked, sitting up. Richard found amusement in watching the unfortunate man's embarrassed face. Knowing he couldn't read.

"I... I can't read." Muttered the man. 

Richard walked over, yanking the letter out of his hands. "Useless." He spat, looking at the letter. "Ah, my son Charlie." He mumbled, handing it back to the man. "I don't want it."

As Richard returned to bed, the man appeared stunned. "Uhm." They said in a near whisper. "You. Do not want?" 

"No, get rid of it." he waved his hand at him. "what's your name?"

"..Gabriel-Jacques de Couture." They introduced themselves, looking at the letter still in their hands. "Where do you suggest I put it?"

Richard huffed. "I don't care! 'Jacks' or however it's pronounced, just get rid of it." he scowled, furrowing his eyebrows.

Jacques scrunched his nose, narrowing his eyes angrily at Richard. He looked away, "Fine." He muttered. "I feel pity for whoever is your child," Jacques replied, looking back at Richard before exiting the tent. 

March 14th, 1762

Eleven-year-old Abraham sat outside his house early Spring, March fourteenth, seventeen sixty-three. The war would soon come to a close with the signature of the Treaty of Paris in early January next year, so many men were returning home. Richard had yet to return home. Charlie balanced on the fence surrounding their horse's barn, so they could wander around during the day.

"Don't fall." their sister Felice said, sitting with Margaret and their beautiful baby sister, Geneviève. Geneviève was the golden child, four years old and already perfecting multiple instruments and speaking both Latin and English. The young girl was adored by everyone she knew, including her big siblings.

Ever since Geneviève was born, a deep worry was brought upon the family. Alice had become extremely ill, and bedridden. Giles dreaded the day their father would return, he knew just as well as everyone else he would get her pregnant once more.

and she would die.

He sat by his mother as his family spent the day outside that beautiful March day, holding her hand. Giles never loved any woman, or man thus far in his life. He didn't feel the need to love anyone when he got so much love from his family, especially his dearest, darling mother. Who he worried deeply for. Caring for the sickly woman the best he could, sitting in the dimly lit room. Giles sat in silence, being distracted by his thoughts. He was shaken to reality as his mother gently grasped his hand.

"Yes, Mama? Did you need something?" he whispered, patting her hair out of her face.

Alice turned her head to glance at Giles, she seemed distant and sad ever since the birth of her recent child. For the short times that Richard did return, they usually fought, and then he left again. But, that was usual. So why did it make her so sad? Perhaps it was because she knew she was dying, she knew she would die and this is all her life has come to. Misery and regret.

Alice shook her head lightly, her greying red curls bouncing slightly. "No, my dear." Alice's voice sounded weak and pained. "You're growing to be so handsome.."

"Thank you, Mama." Giles smiled sadly, he felt tears well in his eyes. His mother's sunken face filled with agony and depression made his heartbreak.

"You look like my father.." She muttered.

"Do I?" Giles asked quietly. "I don't think you've ever told us about your father, what was he like, Mama?"

Alice blinked a couple of times before a smile curled up on her lips. "Help me sit up."

Giles quickly assisted his mother into a sitting position, propping her up with some soft pillows. "That ok?" he asked.

Alice nodded, glancing at Giles with a smile on her face, but her eyes cried of pure dispirit and pain. Seeming glossy as if she was tired or unaware. "My father, John Stewart," she said quietly. "Was an Indigenous man, born here after his parents came here from Alberta, Canada." Alice began her story. "He was caring, brave, smart. He made my Mama so happy.. my mother was. Also from Canada, and she was so, so beautiful."

"was?"

"was."

Ah. "I'm sorry, Mama," Giles said.

"I am not sure if Papa is still alive, I only know about my dear mother because.. because." She remembered how she knew, remembering how Richard guilted her into having sex by saying her mother would want them to have more children than she did in her life. Alice vividly remembered asking what he meant, the memory of him telling her that her mother died of a vicious fever haunted her. Giles was born nine months after that. 

"because why?" Giles asked, intrigued.

Alice glanced at him. "Oh... I don't remember, I am sorry." She lied.

Giles was silent before he smiled at his mother. "It's ok, Mama." He spoke. "I will go make lunch, you rest today," Giles stated.

"I can do it, Giles."

"No, no." he hushed her, "You stay and rest today." Giles insisted, standing up. He left the bedroom. Going into their kitchen, he went to their cabinet by the jamb stove. Propping the door open with his hip, he grabbed multiple potatoes into his arms. Once Giles had an armful he brought them to the table, setting them down and going to look for a pot. "Oh, crap." He muttered. Going to the stove, opening the small door below the top of the stove. It was filled with half-burnt logs of wood. Giles lit the wood aflame with his flintlock, before shutting the door. Allowing the plates to become hot as he filled the pot with water.

Richard entered the home an hour later as the entire family ate at the table, every single one. Except, Giles and Joan. Not including the oldest ones who had moved out. He grabbed sixteen years old, Margaret by the shoulder as she ate.

"Yes, father?" She said, her voice quivered.

Richard peered down at her. "Where is your mother."

"She is in her bedroom, with Giles. They are eating in there since mother is too ill to leave her bedroom." Margaret explained calmly, but quietly.

The room felt tense as Richard glanced at the bedroom door, it was the first doorway to the left of the hallway that leads into the dining room. "I would assume that Joan is with them?" he asked.

Margaret shook her head but said nothing.

Matthew quickly perked up, "Joan has an infection, she was with the doctor earlier and he said she likely has... mm." he hesitated.

"What?"

"The white plague, the doctor greatly suggests we do not approach her.. and. Mother does not know."

Joan was the second youngest child in the family, with long beige-brown straight hair with deep blue eyes, and fair skin. Though, through the previous week. Most of her hair had fallen out, and her face was sunken in. She was just nine years old but sweet and talented. Joan could sing and play piano, in the past few days she had not done either. Not able to leave her room, Doctor Barnabas Liggett, had made it very clear she could get others sick. 

Richard paused. "I see." he released Margaret's shoulder, then approached Matthew. "Have you found yourselves a wife?" He questioned Giles and Matthew.

The two looked at each other then Matthew replied. "No."

He grimaced, "Pitiful." Richard left the table and went to the stairs, going upstairs to his modern office. It was the room he updated and redesigned frequently his prized possession. Richard was an adorn man in the city of London, everyone knew him and his family. A respected priest who dignified himself among London's society. Richard sat at his desk, writing a letter to his friend, and now son-in-law. Oliver Martin. Whom he had married his second oldest daughter, Mary off too when she was just seventeen. While Oliver himself was twenty-six years her senior, closer to Richard's age than his wives.

"Father?" a voice said behind him after a couple of hours. "I brought you your dinner."

He turned to see his daughter Felice. "Bring it to me," Richard grumbled. Turning back to his letter, already irritated just by the fact she was there.

Felice gracefully walked across the room, handing the plate to her father. "We are all so glad you are home."

"Mhm." Richard huffed, taking his plate. "Go away, I am busy. Send your brother up in fifteen minutes for me."

"yes, Father." She said calmly. Felice stopped at the door. "Which brother?"

Richard turned in his chair. "I don't care!" he yelled. "Just send up one of them! Don't bother me unless you want to be smacked, now go."

"Yes, Father." Felice quickly said, then quietly shut the door.

Once those fifteen minutes had passed, Matthew peeked into the room. Quietly creaking the door open, "You needed me?"

Richard glanced to his son as he sealed his letter. "Ah, yes my boy. Come to me." He said.

Matthew approached his father, who promptly set the letter into his hands. "What is this?" Matthew asked as he was handed the letter.

"It is for Mr. Martin and your sister, you will deliver it for me," Richard explained. He looked up at Matthew. "Right?"

"Of course, anything for you Father," he said.

"Good.."

The Martin's didn't live overly far, maybe a day's journey or so on foot. A couple of hours on horseback. Abraham watched as Matthew came downstairs holding the paper in his hands.

"Hi, Matthew!" Abraham stood up from his seat in their living room.

Matthew glanced at Abraham, then rolled his eyes, sighing. "Hello, Abraham."

Abraham approached his brother swiftly, smiling. "What do you have?" He asked as he followed Matthew around.

"Doesn't concern you," Matthew said. Putting on his brown tricorne, looking back at Abraham to see he was still right behind him. 

Abraham frowned, "Oh, okay. Well." he said. "Me and Cephes were going to go to the river, did you want to come?"

"No!" he snapped back. "I am busy!" He towered over small Abraham, watching the boy coward from him. Then avert his eyes to the floor, he appeared so afraid just by Matthew's tone. The Wilson children knew that 'angry' tones meant hurt, and pain. 

"Okay, okay... Sorry."

Matthew huffed, stomping out of the house. Abraham sighed while shaking his head. He hated how mean Matthew was, but remained civil with his older brother. After he dressed himself, Abraham left the house. The eleven-year-old made his way to the opening of the pathway between his and Cephes' home.

The walk was long but peaceful. The sun cracked between the trees and brought light upon the dim-lit dirt path, some horse and human prints engraved on the old trail. It looked as if it had been painted by the most wonderous oil painter of the year, maybe by William Frederick Wells, William was not an oil painter but he did make outstanding water paintings right there in London. Abraham's father owned a few commissions from the man, but the most wonderful painter that Abraham knew was his good friend Cephes. Cephes was only twelve, but he captured art perfectly. He adored his friend's work, he was so talented and amazing. Abraham wished he was like that, he wished he was talented so his father would care about him. All Abraham was good at was poems and stories, but, never good enough.

He reached Cephes' estate, entering the home without knocking as he knew Cephes' parents were not going to be home.

"Cephes!" he yelled.

Cephes came running downstairs, going to embrace his friend. "Oh, Abraham! I missed you!" He cheered, gripping Abraham's shirt as he hugged onto him.

"I missed you too!" Abraham laughed lightly, pulling from the hug. It had been about two months since he saw Cephes, they just lived different lives and often were both busy. "Ready to go?"

Cephes nodded. "We aren't swimming right?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so! It's kind of chilly, so just. Stick out feet in the water if it's warm enough. But I don't want to risk a cold." Abraham suggested, shrugging his shoulders. 

"that makes sense.." Cephes replied, nodding a bit. "Did.. Your father come back yet?" 

Abraham sighed. "Yeah.." He said, sounding as if disappointed.

"Permanently, or just visiting again?"

"Permanently." Abraham sighed once more, looking down at the floor. 

Cephes frowned. "I'm sorry Abraham, that's not good." he said. "but, at least this war is over and he is alive, right?"

"I know, I should be happy he is alive but... it's just. So hard with him around." Abraham muttered, his eyebrows furrowed. Feeling disappointed with himself.

Cephes put his hand onto his friend's shoulder. "It's okay to be upset, he's.. mean. He isn't a good dad."

Abraham looked at Cephes then back to the floor. "I suppose." He felt guilt for wishing death upon his father, knowing it just wasn't morally correct to wish death upon anyone. 

"Let's just go, okay? You'll feel better and we will have fun." Cephes smiled at Abraham.

He nodded, returning the grin slightly as he looked up to Cephes with his eyes. "Okay," he replied, taking Cephes' hand.

Upon arrival, the two sat by the river, the only noise was the semi-loud stream that calmly moved and rippled. Abraham sat with Cephes, his shoes off and feet in the cool water. He knew that he was only with Cephes, but he felt as if there was someone else there like he wasn't with just Cephes. Someone else was there, a harmless presence. But Someone.


	11. The Frenchman

March 14th, 1762

Matthew's trusted horse, Finch, trotted down the back pathway in the forest to reach Mr. Martin's house, the dirt pathways were made by his great grandfather, Nicholas Wilson, and his wife Nadia Branton. They weren't rich, both Scottish immigrants. Owning the large farm and using the pathways to get to customers faster. He stopped outside the Inn, owned by James Paulson. Matthew looked from afar, seeing James was inside. He knew James would know where Oliver was, and he did not want to go all the way to Oliver's home estate if he wasn't there. With Finch tied outside to the post, Matthew headed inside. He approached the counter, smiling.

"Good evening, Mr. Paulson. How is your wife?" Matthew began, looking at James.

James looked up, a slight smile on his face. "She is splendid, how's your father?"

"He is well." Matthew replied, "Do you know where Mr. Martin may be this evening, sir?"

James thought for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows with thought. His eyes seemed to trail to something behind Matthew, widening. "Oh," he muttered.

Matthew cocked an eyebrow, turning around. There stood a large, tanned man. The letters 'TDP' burnt onto his shoulders, he was looking right at Matthew and James. He approached, towering over the other men.

"Could I have a drink?" They asked James, holding out a few shillings which did not compare to the size of his massive palms.

As James went to fetch a drink for him, Matthew leaned on the counter, looking up at him. "Hello, monsieur." He said, recognizing their French accent.

The man paused, turning his head to look down at Matthew. His eyes were filled with burning anger, wearing just an undershirt with torn-off sleeves as well as brown slacks. It was improper, but nobody seemed to criticize the monster of a man,

"What."

"I can see you are quite busy, Monsieur. But I wanted to ask you a few questions if that is alright. I believe I have quite the scenario to play by you." Matthew suggested, smiling a bit. "We can just sit." He patted the seat next to the man.

He huffed, appearing uninterested as he paid James for the drink. Walking over to a corner table, sitting down on a chair that was much too small for him.

Matthew speed-walked after him. "Oh, you really do not want to decline this offer, monsieur. It is an ideal career, just let me elaborate.." He sat across from him, looking at him with interest. "If you are willing to tell me your name."

"Jacques," he muttered.

Matthew wrote the name down before he returned his glance to the uninterested large fellow across the table. "Are you from France?"

"Does it matter where I am from?" Jacques spoke, a snarl in his voice as he knitted his eyebrows. "What would I be doing for work, and how much will you pay me," he said, seeming more urgent than before.

"Ah." Matthew muttered. "well, probably a couple of shillings. You would be doing the slave work, but you may. Go about your day after sunset." Explained the young man, hands set on the table. "I will get my father to further details of said work with you after you agree to work."

Jacques paused, pursing his lips in thought. He knew any recognition in an attempt to get work could cause him to be captured and returned to France. "Yeah." He agreed.

Matthew extended his hand and Jacques firmly grasped it, a deal with the Devil. "You will come to Marybone Lane tomorrow in the evening, Monsieur. You will meet my father Richard, and you will work for us." His respectful smile became an evil leer, his yellowish teeth showing as he grinned. "I cannot wait for your arrival."

As Matthew turned on his feet towards the door, Jacques' narrowed his eyes with suspicion. Why had he said it in that creepy tone? He pushed the thought aside, work was work. And he needed this job, for his dearest wife Aurelie and his young daughter Elise.

Matthew returned home within the hour after delivering his father's letter to Mr. Martin's estate on Upper Brook Street. He was lucky Oliver was home that evening and in a decent mood. Upon arrival, he raced upstairs to Richard's office.

"Father?" he said, looking across the darkroom with the curtains drawn shut. Richard grasped the edge of his desk, appearing to be heaving as if out of breath. His other hand gripping his chest with a shaky hold. "Father!" Matthew rushed to his side, putting his hand onto Richard's back to steady him. "What is wrong?"

Richard glared at him before he swung his fist at his son, standing up and stumbling to the wall. "Do you hear that Matthew?"

Matthew had never seen his father in such distress, staring into his fear-filled eyes before listening to his surroundings. "I do not hear a thing." He replied.

"Oh." his shaky voice muttered as he grasped his grey hair, continuing to breathe heavily. "I keep hearing his voice."

He stopped, who's voice? He questioned what on Earth his father was talking about that had him so worked up. "What?"

Richard fell to his knees, curling forward onto the floor, his hands pulled at his hair as he appeared to be crying. Matthew cautiously stepped forward, speechless.

"I.. have good news," Matthew stated, with no reply he continued. "I have found a gigantic man father, and he has agreed to work for you! He will do a wonderous job, I can tell by his size."

The priest peered up at the floor, on his hands and knees. "How big. Is he French?" Richard asked, his face flushed from crying.

"Why yes, he is."

Richard's suffering expression turned nefarious as he scrambled to his feet. "Monsieur Gabriel-Jacques de Couture." he cackled. "He escaped prisoner, that bloody fool comes to my home thinking I will not recognize him." Richard laughed, sitting at his desk. "Well he does not know what sort of miserable things are coming for him, does he, my boy. Come to me." He told Matthew.

Matthew beamed at his father's pleasant reaction, going to his side. "Yes, dearest father?"

"Tomorrow morning, prepare a speech for me. On how I will ruin Mr. Couture if he dares disrespect me." Richard chuckled, his hands clasped on his desk in a thoughtful, evil way.

"Yes, Father." He nodded. "Anything for you father."

Richard watched his obedient son rush off to go start working on the speech, sighing with pride. At least he had one ideal child. He began to write his next letter to the people of his church, requesting money to devote their souls to God and open Heaven's gate for them upon their demise. He planned to use said money to buy more equipment for his plantation, he wanted more products to sell before Winter so he could expand his Winter estate in York.

March 15th, 1762

The following day went as planned, Margaret sat outside with the younger children as the heavily built man walked down their driveway. The sun reflected against his raven hair and his broad shoulders. The children cowardly hid by their sisters side, looking up at him as he lumbered past them. He did not seem to acknowledge their presence, grabbing the door knocker and slamming it against the wooden door. Matthew lifted his head as he sat in his bedroom, holding the third draft of his fathers speech which he had been working on endlessly. He scrambled to get to the door, seeing his father was already there. Dressed in a long black robe with a matching tippet. His golden cross hung on his neck as he opened the door.

Jacques's eyes widened with shock at the familiar face, before he scowled. "Mister Wilson."

"Hello, Gabriel." Richard stepped aside, extending his arm towards the room. "Come inside."

He huffed through his nose, stepping inside and scraping his large boots against the mat. Jacques followed Richard upstairs to a fancy-looking door. A large cross on the door. Richard removed a key from his pocket, sticking it into the door and pushing it open. The room was dim, with scarlet wallpaper with multiple religious paintings and crosses. A pulpit at the front of the room with multiple chairs in front of it.

"What is this," Jacques asked, looking at Richard as he walked into the room.

Richard stood at the pulpit. "It's a Sunday," he said. "I assumed you would appreciate the styling of this room, I designed it myself. Right before you arrived my Churchgoers and I had a meeting."

"Ah.." He muttered, sitting down in one of the chairs. "I'm not really religious."

"A shame," Richard replied. "I suppose if you are willing to go to Hell, then you may do what you please."

Jacques raised an eyebrow but decided not to speak as Matthew brought a paper to Richard. Richard propped it up to the pulpit, looking down at it.

"Mr. De .. LeGrande. You will work for me and this will be the rules I withstand by." Richard looked over the list of rules Matthew had written, the same rules the other servants followed. He decided not to read it, handing the paper to Jacques. "You read this and tell me when you are done."

Jacques sneered at the paper, his eyebrows knit as he attempted to read it. He knew Richard knew he couldn't read, he saw his stupid smirk out of the corner of his eye. "I can't."

"Oh." He chuckled, yanking the paper from Jacques's hands. "I suppose that will be an issue, you best just hope you don't break any of the rules I suppose."

Jacques paused as Richard slipped the paper into his pocket. "You aren't gon' tell me what it says?" Asked the Frenchman.

"Well it isn't my fault you can't read, now is it?"

Jacques felt his face heat up with anger, gritting his teeth. "No," he replied with a resentful tone.

Richard appeared smug, seeming proud in a way that he had upset Jacques. "Well, you start work tomorrow at eight AM. You will stop at 6 PM." he stated, walking towards the door. He stopped for a moment, before glancing back. "Hopefully you can read a clock."

Jacques' slammed his fists on the table in front of him as Richard shut the door, hearing a small yelp from the back of the room. He blinked a few times, furrowing his eyebrows as he stared back into the darkroom. He approached a back cupboard in the room, shoving the door open with anger. Before peering down at the small child, Geneviève, just four years old, sat inside. She looked up at the man, tears covered her hopeless expression. Jacques' face softened, thinking of his daughter Elise as he brought the child into his arms.

"Do not cry." He whispered. "I'm sorry I scared you." he pets her long red hair back out of her face. They had beautiful green eyes as Mrs. Wilson did.

"Who are you?" She muttered, looking up at him nervously.

Jacques smiled slightly, sitting down in one of the chairs and holding her in his lap. "My name's Jacques. What is yours?"

Geneviève lowered her head, before shyly muttering their name. "Geneviève."

"That's a nice name," Jacques replied.

She didn't speak, looking at the floor as she fiddled with her dress. "Can you open the door for me?" she asked after a moment, pointing at the door. "It shutted behind me when I went in here, I can't get out."

He nodded, rising to his feet and walking towards the door. Jacques' opened the heavy door, setting Geneviève down gently on the ground. He watched as she looked back to him, before running off to go find her siblings. Jacques felt proud for helping the small girl, before hearing Richard leaving his study next to the Church room.

"Oh, you're still here." Richard huffed. "You can leave." he ushered Jacques to the stairs.

Jacques gladly took the offer, quietly leaving the home the way he came.

"Well that went well, didn't it?" Matthew looked at Richard as Jacques left.

Hands clasped in front of him, Richard replied. "It went perfectly."

Matthew paused for a moment. "Father, what was wrong yesterday? You seemed.. very upset and I just. I worry for you, father."

Richard slowly turned his head to face his son, before smacking him across the face. "You disrespectful menace, get out of my face!" He yelled.

Matthew backed away, startled. "yes, father. I'm sorry father!" he said, before running off to his bedroom.

Richard stayed in place as he watched his son scurry off, feeling a slight sense of pride within himself every time he brought fear to someone. As if he had done the right thing by boosting his own ego.

Alice laid in bed, she hadn't had her period in the past couple of months, deeply worried that she was with child again. She already had horrid health that worsened every time she had a child, the bedridden woman laid in bed, sadly looking out the small bedroom window across the room. She missed when she could move without discomfort, remembering the large bay window in the drawing-room and how much joy it brought her to sit by it. Nothing made Alice happy anymore, not the thought of freedom for she knew she would never be able to escape this terrible marriage, not her children, not to read or see the beautiful sun in the sky every day. Nothing. All she thought about was her impending death and the next time that Richard would harm her. Alice turned her head as the door creaked open, Giles peaking into the room.

"Hello, mama." He said in his soft voice, approaching her with a bowl in hand. Soup inside of it. "For you."

"Thank you," Alice whispered, lifting the bowl from his hands and setting it upon her lap.

Giles sat on the edge of her bed, looking at her. "It's just potatoes and leeks and such, did you want help eating?"

"No, I can eat on my own." She muttered, shakily lifting the spoon to her mouth.

He watched his mother eating with her weak frail hands, her saddened eyes, and her paled expression.

"Are you sure you do not want help?" He asked.

"It's okay, Giles," Alice assured him.

Giles continued to worry as they sat in silence, he could hear his father speaking to some guests in the sitting room as Patience walked around upstairs. He narrowed his eyes, sighing before he shut them entirely.

"Mama?" he questioned.

Alice set down her spoon, looking at her son. "Yes?"

"..You'll. You'll be okay right?" Giles asked, looking to her with worry-filled into every inch of his blue eyes.

"What do you mean, dear?"

Giles fumbled their words. "Well, you're just so. Weak. And you get weaker and more tired, and sicker and I just. I worry so much, mama. I don't know what I will do without you."

Alice stopped, sighing. Her sunken face showed concern, but not for herself. "Giles, you will be okay."

"So will you. Right?" He asked.

"You're a strong boy, my charming,, smart son." She set her hand onto his face. "You will do just fine without me."

Giles' eyes filled with tears. "But.. you aren't going anywhere soon, right?" he continued to ask for assurance.

"I don't know..." Alice's voice trembled as she looked at her son, tears poured down his flustered face.

"I don't want you to go anywhere, I need you." Giles began to beg. "Just, maybe we should run away. I can take care of you, Richard won't bother you. You'll recover and you'll be healthy again and we can watch the sunset like we did when I was a child."

"Giles."

"And you'll be so happy again, mama. The light will return to your eyes! You'll be even more beautiful and filled with youth."

"Giles, please."

"Oh mama, it will be so wonderful. We could even leave England so Richard will never find you and I will protect you from all harm so you can live a hundred years-"

"GILES!"

The room silenced Giles, looking at his mother. Tears streamed down her tensed expression, her hair in her face and her dull green eyes looked into him before she spoke once more.

"I'm sorry, Giles.."


	12. The French Tudor/Injured

March 16th, 1762

"Where are you going?" Aurelie asked, sat in bed with sleep in her eyes. 

Jacques turned to his wife, seeing Aimon was still snoring away next to her. "I told you, I have a job now," he spoke, setting his large hands on her face.

Aurelie leaned her head against his rough palms, opening her emerald green eyes so she could look up to her husband. "Can't you stay in bed for just a little bit longer?" 

Jacques chuckled lightly, kissing her forehead. "I think you know just as well as me that I can't." He replied, removing his hands and walking to the other side of the bed. He leaned down to kiss Aimon's temple, hearing the man grumble a bit. 

Aurelie laid down, putting her arms around Aimon and pouting at Jacques. "Please?"

"I'm sorry, mon ange." He kissed her lips gently before heading to the door.

She crossed her arms, huffing. "You cannot just call me sappy names and leave! This is not over!" she joked, hearing Jacques chuckle as he left the room. Aurelie smiled softly, proud of Jacques for how far he had come ever since they left France. She returned to her laying position, drifting back to sleep as Jacques began his way to the Wilson's estate. 

Upon arrival, he was lead back into the home Church by Margaret. Seeing Richard's sons and Richard himself in there, along with who appeared to be his daughter Jacques' assumed. She looked too young to be Richard's wife. 

"Sit," Richard demanded, pointing at a chair next to Matthew.

Jacques scoffed at Richard's cocky demeanor, before going to sit down. "I won't be working for you for free." He said before Richard could speak.

Richard froze, before scowling. "You will not be bossing me around," he stated. "But yes, you will be paid." 

Jacques listened to Richard restate what he had said the previous day, glancing back at the cupboard he had found Geneviève in. The door was open, it brought him a sense ofrelief to know there was no child in it this time. As Richard finished speaking, he turned to his largest son. The short-haired muscled boy with the angered face, Jacques had forgotten his name. The two fussed over multiple topics for the next several minutes, boring Jacques who looked around the room. 

Abraham returned home from Praise's, studying the kitchen as he entered through the side door of the estate. The room was empty, despite it not being dark. It felt tense. Abraham jumped as he heard a noise upstairs, easily startled, the boy peered up the stairwell. Hearing his father and other family members conversing with someone, a voice Abraham was not familiar with. Deep, accented, defiantly a man.

"Father?" Abraham spoke with caution, heading up the stairwell. He looked into the meeting-room upstairs that his father had for Church gatherings. He blinked a bit, seeing a candle lit inside. Usually, the door was shut, with curtains drawn for darkness. Only being used an occasional Sunday, Abraham went to the door. He pushed it open. Seeing his older brothers and his parents in the room.

Richard turned to glance at his youngest son on the Hill-Stewart side of his marriages, he sighed. Waving Abraham over, Abraham quickly approached. "Meet, Monsieur de LeGrande." Richard motioned to the other side of the room,

Abraham turned his head slightly, startled by the man who he hadn't seen when he first looked in the room. He had no idea how he missed him, the man was very large with a threatening appearance. Wearing an undershirt with the sleeves torn right off, extremely improper of him in Abraham's opinion. Abraham stared wide-eyed at the stranger.

"What are you staring at, bug eyes," Jacques grunted, not appreciating the stare from the young boy.

Abraham blinked, 'bug-eyes?'. He huffed through his nose, "I do not have. Bug eyes. Whatever that means." He said, "Where are your clothes?"

"He's homeless Abraham, be nice," Matthew said.

Jacques slow turned to look at Matthew. "DO I LOOK HOMELESS TO YOU?" Jacques yelled, smacking the arm of his chair.

The other children appeared startled as Matthew's eyes widened. "Well, I assumed since you're-"

"Since I'm what," Jacques said, looking Matthew in the eyes as he furrowed his eyebrows.

Matthew lowered his chin to his neck awkwardly as he looked up at Jacques, "Uh." he muttered. He motioned his hands to Jacques' appearance. "You know.."

Jacques cocked his head to the side, "I don't have a clue what you are talking about, enlighten me."

"Mr. LeGrande, I believe that is enough," Richard spoke over the two, before pointing at a seat on the opposite side of Jacques. "Sit." He told Abraham.

Abraham looked at Jacques, fearfully. Then back at his father.

"SIT!" Richard yelled.

He nodded, "Yes, Father." Abraham said, scurrying over to the chair and sitting down. He could feel Jacques's unamused face on him as Jacques side-eyed him. Angrily.

Alice rose from her seat. "I am going to check on, Joan." She spoke softly, quietly leaving the room to check on her ailing child. Giles got up and followed. Leaving just Richard, Clement, Matthew, Abraham. And the absolutely horrifying Frenchman.

As the door shut, Richard who sat on the left side of the road, addressed the others. "As you may have realized, Monsieur De LeGrande will be working for me. As a farmhand, and." Richard looked at Abraham, his deep blue eyes brought Abraham anxiety as he looked into his father's oncoming glance. "Abraham's new tutor, now that Mr. Inn is uninterested in teaching him."

"Which one is Abraham." Jacques leaned back in the small seat, crossing his arms.

"The one next to you."

Jacques grabbed the top of Matthew's head, his entire hand covered Matthew's hair. "This one?"

Richard paused, blinking for a moment as Matthew began to sweat. "Other one," Richard replied.

He let go of Matthew, grabbing Abraham by the head. "This one?" He asked again.

Richard nodded, averting his eyes to the window, clearing his throat. "Anyways.." Richard muttered. "You will work with me until further notice, Abraham and Clement will show you about the barn tomorrow. Be here after mid-day." Richard spoke, getting a small box out of his pocket. "You're dismissed." He told them. As they left, Abraham watched his father put a small curved-tube like object to his lips, using a candle to light whatever was in it. He squinted, not sure what his dad was doing. But did not question it.

Jacques sighed, another day where he went just to speak to the rude British man. He hoped to have actual work tomorrow, if he had to sit in a room with Richard one more time he might kill him.

March 17th, 1762

The following day was rainy, but nonetheless. Abraham dressed himself after breakfast and he and Clement went outside. Seeing Jacques walking down the long dirt pathway up to their house from the main street. Clement gave Jacques a wave, which Jacques returned with a nod as he took long strides to the two, Abraham saw Jacques as a giant. His long legs and large feet seemed to thump with every step, his muscular arms looked as if he could tear down a tree effortlessly.

"Hello, Mr. LeGrande." Clement smiled, "How did you sleep?"

Jacques looked down at Clement. "Lovely." He blankly spoke, "We have work."

Clement nodded, he led both Abraham and Jacques to the barn across the land of the Wilson estate. Abraham occasionally glanced up at Jacques, feeling nervous being beside him. Jacques eventually caught Abraham looking, squinting a bit at him and scrunching his face angrily. Abraham quickly stopped peaking, gulping.

"here we are!" Clement patted the side of the barn. "Painted it myself, nice isn't it?"

The Frenchman looked around the barn. "Mm." He muttered. "It's certainly. A barn." Jacques said, having not seen a barn before. Unprepared to inform the two of this, he simply pretended as if he knew what a barn was supposed to look like.

Clement hesitated. "Yep!" He replied, smiling politely. "I will show you how to feed the cattle and horses, you can let the horses out of their pens during the day to wander about the fenced-in area. It's good for their legs." Clement explained.

The three worked about the day until dinner time and the sun began to slowly rest. Abraham glanced at the sky as it darkened with ease.

Clement put his hand onto Abraham's shoulder. "You two should go work on your French lesson," Clement suggested, he looked at Jacques.

He huffed, "I suppose." Jacques grumbled. "Where do we do them."

Clement looked around the yard. "Well, it's too dark and too cold to do it out here. So, inside. Maybe in the sitting room?"

They nodded their large head. Then Jacques looked down to Abraham, who was picking at his fingernails. "Come." He said in that deep echoing voice.

Abraham looked up to Jacques, pausing for a moment and pouting slightly. Not feeling comfortable around him yet, but going with him nonetheless. Abraham had to keep running to catch up to Jacques, Jacques caught eye of Abraham's struggle and sighed.

"Come here," Jacques spoke, squatting a bit. He grabbed Abraham's sides and picked him up, holding him in his arm.

Abraham held onto Jacques, anxious after being unexpectedly picked up by him. But as he adjusted, he felt warm and very tall. Very, very tall. Abraham looked at Jacques as he quietly studied the man's face, noticing he was missing the top part of his left ear. Both ears had golden ring piercings, the boy tilted his head. Before gently touching one of the earrings.

"Don't touch." Jacques swatted his hand.

Abraham retracted his hand quickly, looking at him, before looking down at his hands. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Jacques opened the side-door, stepping inside while ducking slightly. He set Abraham down gently onto the floor, Abraham looked up to him, having to lean his head all the way back to do so. As if waiting for Jacques to lead the way.

"Hey, you live here. You show me where the room is." Jacques nodded, watching Abraham run off into the other room. He slowly followed, looking around at the nicely decorated home. Mr. Wilson must have a lot of money, Jacques assumed. He followed Abraham into the sitting room, looking around. It was the nicest room he had seen yet, with light-purple wallpaper and dark purple seats. Purple dye was so expensive, Jacques had never seen it before. He looked at the color, it pleased him to see it. It was vibrant, mystical. He noticed Abraham had sat down and was looking at him. Waiting for him to join him.

"Right." Jacques sat down on the loveseat next to Abraham, taking up most of the seat. "So. Do you have letter cards or anything?" he asked, Jacques couldn't read but lied and said he could. Luckily, he did know the alphabet.

Abraham nodded. "Yes, sir." He replied, going off to get the cards from the trunk in the room. Leaning into it to get them. He brought the stack of cards to Jacques, setting them into his hand.

Jacques looked at them, they looked like soldiers that made up shapes with odd poses of their bodies. "You can just call me Jacques, it's okay," he told Abraham.

He perked up a bit, smiling slightly. "Okay." He told Jacques, sitting back beside him.

Jacques lifted a card, two men making up an 'O' by connecting their hands and feet together and bending slightly. He showed it to Abraham. "This is, said like 'ô'." he tried to explain to the young boy.

Abraham glanced at the card, then at Jacques. "Ouh." he mimicked the noise.

"Good! Good, uh." Jacques got another card from the deck.

Throughout the evening the two recited the alphabet with French pronunciations, going over accented letters within the French language as well. After about two hours of practice, the sun was near setting. Jacques could see the drowsy expression Abraham had, one of his eyes almost shut and his mouth slightly open as he looked at the cards. He thought of his newborn daughter at home, having just been born a few weeks ago. He missed her, but also knew he would need the money from this job to support her and his wife Aurelie, who was resting at their home a few miles to the South of Richard's estate.

"You look tired," Jacques stated.

Abraham blinked a couple of times, then looked up at the Frenchman. "No, not tired." he insisted.

Jacques lightly pushed Abraham, who wobbled a bit sleepily as he kept his balance. "Grgh." Abraham grumbled.

He chuckled deeply, looking at Abraham. "Isn't it your bedtime?" he asked. Not sure what time kids went to bed, but he assumed it'd be about this time, right?

Abraham shook his head. "I don't have a bedtime! I'm a big boy."

"That's a dirty lie," Giles spoke, leaning on the entryway of the sitting room. "Abraham, it's time for you to go to bed. You're about to fall asleep sitting up."

He got out of his seat, going to Giles. But stopping in front of Jacques and looking at him. "Will you be back tomorrow, Jacques?" The small boy asked.

Jacques chuckled. "Yes, I will be back tomorrow," he spoke. "You go to bed, little one." he patted Abraham on the back, at first he did not like Abraham's company. But he tended to have a soft spot for children, understanding that their upbringing often affected behavior. Abraham was very nice once away from his father, Jacques appreciated Richard hiring him but also had a very bad feeling about the man.

Feeling as if he was up to something horrible, and his nice-man act was a façade to impress other adults, not within the family. He knew that Richard could not be trusted.

May 21rst, 1762

Abraham ran down the cellar steps, they were wet due to the rain trickling into them that morning. But it didn't bother Abraham too much. He snuck past his fathers sleeping servants on the cold floor, he pitied them. He did not know why Richard kept people down in the cellar, or why they didn't get paid like the farmhands. Abraham grabbed the muskets, shoving two others under his arms and holding the others with his hands. He walked out of the cellar, running off to the front of the barn where his father and brothers were.

The cellar door remained open. 

Abraham handed a gun to Matthew, then Clement, then Giles. The boys followed their father down the beaten pathway, going off to the field to shoot muskets for awhile. Richard enjoyed watching his sons shoot, knowing that they would be good marksmen meant that if he were to be challenged to a duel, he would be able to send one of his sons in his stead. Wanting to save his own skin. 

Later that evening, Patience sat in the sitting room with Alice. She poured tea into a cup for Alice who was reading Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. Alice always seemed to be reading something, Patience admired her calmness and her beauty. 

"Would you like sugar with your tea?" Patience asked, wearing a baby blue evening gown. Alice was still wearing her nightgown, but Patience didn't overly mind the underdressed woman. She understood Alice had been through a lot and likely didn't want to get on five different dresses a day. 

"Yes please," Alice muttered. 

Patience added scoops of sugar into the cup before handing it to Alice. She heard the front door open, Richard's loud familiar footsteps entered the home. He walked to the sitting room, sitting by Patience. 

"Pour me a cup." He huffed, wiping his face with his hands. It was a hot day, he was sweaty after the outing. 

As Patience poured the cup of tea, Matthew walked into the house. Abraham, Giles, and Clement had already entered the home a few minutes earlier while Matthew returned the guns to the cellar. His face showed fear, his eyes filled with a suspicious knowing of something. Patience felt tense and nervous by his expression. 

"Father?" Matthew asked, his lip trembled as Richard slowly turned to look at him. "The. The cellar door was left open, and. They're gone." The 'they're' was the people Richard owned and kept in the cellar for work, Matthew watched Richard's face go from shock to absolute fury as he stood up. His teacup shattered as it hit the floor. 

Both women trembled behind Richard as he turned to face Matthew. "WHAT?" He yelled, his face was red with hate in his eyes. "WHO THE HELL LEFT IT OPEN?"

Matthew gulped, muttering nonsense as he tried to think of who would've been in the cellar. Abraham. Abraham had gotten the guns, he must have left it open. It was Abraham's fault. Matthew sniffled, he could simply lie and say he didn't know. But that would risk him receiving punishment if all the boys were punished, that was the last thing Matthew wanted. He had to stay the golden child in Wilson's eyes.

"I," he mumbled. "I believe it was Abraham, father." 

Abraham sat in his bedroom, he and Charlie sat on the floor playing with some blocks they had painted a few months prior. With horses and soldiers on them, and other things the young boys enjoyed. Eleven-year-old Abraham chuckled as Charlie held up the horse side of a block, mocking a horse noise. Charlie's joyful smile sunk as a shadow loomed over Abraham, Richard stood behind him. Towering above the boy. Abraham blinked a few times, before feeling intense pain in his scalp as his father gripped his hair and dragged him out of his room. Abraham wriggled and began to cry and shout, trying to pry Richard's hands away from his auburn curls. 

"Ow!" Abraham yelled, continuing to yell and wail until Richard finally stopped dragging him. Abraham looked around the sitting room, attempting to get off of his knees but was stopped by his father kicking him back down.

"STAY," Richard screamed, his loud voice pained Abraham's ears as he vigorously nodded in obedience. 

Richard left the room, giving Abraham a chance to look around. He saw Matthew standing by their mother, Patience by her other side as they seemed to hold Alice who was shaken and fearful for her young child. She was unsure what Richard had gone outside to retrieve as punishment but she knew it would be bad.

"Abraham-" Alice whimpered, looking at her son. He looked scared and helpless as Richard reentered the room. A horsewhip in his rough hands. Alice rose to her feet. "What are you doing?!" she attempted to approach the two but was held back by Matthew. 

Abraham looked up at his father, Richard looked more hate-filled than ever. "Take off your shirt." Richard hissed.

"Richard leave him alone! He didn't mean to!" She felt herself begin to cry, Alice's shaking hands as she tried to plead. 

She watched in horror as Richard brought the whip down onto her son's back. Abraham screamed, a loud piercing squeal of pain. Alice cried, trying to help her child only to be held back by both Matthew and Patience for her safety. Abraham continued to scream with every slash, eventually rolling over and getting the whip to his chest a few times. Alice's sobs filled the room between each screech.

After what felt like an eternity despite just being a few seconds, Richard finished by bringing the whip down at Abraham's small face. Watching his bloodied son lie on the floor motionless. He seemed to have passed out from either pain or shock. Richard felt better. Much, much better. 

"OH GOD," Alice screamed tears poured down her face as she ran to her son once escaping the grasp of Matthew and Patience. She sat on the floor, holding Abraham's small face. A gash across his forehead and under his eye. She looked up to Richard. "YOU ARE THE DEVIL, YOU'RE AN EVIL, DISGUSTING MAN," Alice yelled, sobbing. Not once had she stood up for herself. She regretted her decision as Richard grabbed the fire poker, he lifted it up as Giles ran up behind him. Grasping the metal rod and wrestling it from Richard. The two men began to fight over the fire poker as Alice rose to her feet, despite her weakness she found the strength to pick Abraham up. He was so limp in her arms, Alice feared the worst. 

"Hannibal!" she yelled as she walked down the hallway to Abraham's room, laying him down.

Hannibal entered the room, looking at the bloodied boy. Nobody dared to check what the screaming was earlier, they knew better than to interrupt Richard's "punishments". 

"Please help," Alice begged.


	13. Hurt and Recovered

May 22rd, 1762

"Is he doing alright?" Jacques asked after Giles had informed him of the previous day's incident, appearing worried for young Abraham. 

"He.. could be better," Giles replied, though he did not seem so sure. "I'm sure it will be alright, he is a vibrant young boy. Usually picks himself up rather fast." 

Jacques sighed. "Well, usually I don't think he gets whipped seventeen times by his father." He muttered. "How is Mrs. Wilson?" 

Giles adverted his eyes. "She's." He remembered their conversation a few months ago, a pain grew in his chest at the thought of his darling mother. Pregnant again, Alice seemed to worsen every day. "She's doing okay." 

Jacques nodded. "Could I see Abraham?" he questioned. He had been tutoring the boy for months now, having a bond with him. He almost considered him like a son. 

"Yes, he is in his bedroom." Giles replied, leading Jacques' down the empty hallway. Besides the paintings upon the wall, done with effortless talent by some painter years ago. The paintings of an unfamiliar woman, dressed in a lilac gown, her chestnut-colored hair fell at her shoulder as her lovely, composed expression captured everyone who viewed the beautiful painting. She seemed to be in every painting, 

Jacques stopped to look at them. Giles heard as Jacques' loud footsteps stopped, turning to look at what he had stopped for. He caught Jacques glancing upon one of the many paintings of Isabella Franklin in the home. Richard's first wife. Giles approached Jacques, standing at his side.

"Is that one of your sisters or something?" Jacques asked.

"No," Stated Giles. "Her name was Isabella, the light of Richard's life." He explained. "The only woman, or person I believe he has ever cared for. The only thing that mattered to him."

Jacques adverted his eyes to the floor. "Ah," he muttered. "I assume she's.." 

"Yes," Giles said. "But do not pity him, he is vile and disgusting despite the loss. Nothing excuses what he's done." He spat, turning to go to Abraham's door. He opened the wooden door for Jacques, standing to the side as Jacques looked upon the sleeping Abraham. 

Abraham stirred, seeing the man. "Hello?"

Jacques went to speak to Giles, but when he turned, Giles had already left. He faced Abraham. "Hello," he stated. Jacques approached his bedside, pulling a chair from the desk over to sit on. "How have you been feeling?"

"I can't see, it's all red." He said, his voice raspy. 

"Well one side has a bandage over it," Jacques explained.

Abraham seemed to pause, shakily lifting his arm to run his fingers over the smooth bandages wrapped around half of his face. "Oh," he said. "Well, I can see this side." he pointed to his right eye. 

"That's good." Replied Jacques. "is there anything I could do to uh. Make you feel better I guess."

"Can you read to me?" the young boy asked, his hands rested on top of his linen blanket. 

A long, long pause filled the room. Awkward silence as Abraham tiredly looked up to Jacques. Before he spoke again.

"Please?"

Jacques sighed, knowing what he had to do. But also knew that what he had to do, was impossible. Or at least seemed to be impossible. "Yes. Yes, I can do that." Jacques knew he couldn't read, but he didn't want to disappoint the injured boy. He didn't want him to hurt more than he already was. "But, perhaps your mother would be better? I could ask her for you."

"No, I want you to do it," Abraham said, his voice hushed. 

'Of course, you do.' Jacques thought, sighing once more. "Alright then, I'll read to you tomorrow. You rest, now." Jacques gently pet Abraham's curly auburn hair from his face.

Abraham's small smile felt bittersweet to Jacques, he knew if he didn't figure out how to read even a little, then Abraham would be so disappointed. Jacques left the room to allow Abraham to rest, walking out to the drawing-room. Hannibal was there, holding a cup of tea for Patience. Patience appeared uncomfortable by Jacques's harrowing presence. 

"Miss. Clifton." He said. 

"Monsieur LeGrande.." she muttered. "How can I help you."

Jacques pets his hair back, grumbling a bit. "I. Need your help with something, I can't really. I. I have an issue, with. Something."

Patience raised an eyebrow. "What would that something be, Monsieur?" 

Jacques looked at both Hannibal and Patience, exhaling quietly. "I need to figure out how to read, even if it's just one chapter of a book. I just have to."

"Why?" She asked, Hannibal setting the cup down by her and leaving the room to retrieve something. 

"I just want to bring Abraham some comfort from his injuries, a distraction I guess." Jacques explained. "if that makes sense?"

Patience eyed the 'TFP' branding on Jacques' large shoulders, she knew what that meant, and she knew what Jacques was. Nonetheless, she pitied him. His sunken eyes, his scarred skin, and poor man's clothes. She felt bad for his misfortunes., "I'll help you." She said.

Hannibal handed a book to Jacques as he reentered the room, it was white with a bird and a vase on the front. "It is called Aesops Fabels, Abraham will like it." 

"Thank you." Jacques attempted to smile, his grin slightly forced. 

"Of course." Hannibal nodded, returning to stand by Patience and hold her cup. 

Patience patted the chair next to hers, signaling for Jacques to come to sit. Which he willingly accepted, sat by her as she gently took the book from him. The two worked on his reading throughout the evening, Patience found the kindness from the man a pleasant change from Richard's company. Jacques was, threatening to say the least. But had a kind soul, Patience could tell by the way he carried himself. 

By evening, Jacques seemed confident in his ability. Thanking Patience endlessly before he departed from the Wilson's Estate. As he put on his shoes, Patience stood by him. Everyone else in the home was asleep by then, Jacques paused to look at Patience.

"Did you need something?" he asked. 

"I was wondering how you escaped prison." She said blatantly.

Jacques' pupils shrunk as he looked at the woman in horror, his fearful expression worsened as he backed towards the door, just one of his boots on. "I." His shortened breath filled the silence between words. "I, I do not know what you're talking about."

Patience pointed to the 'TFP', her hand trembled slightly. "travaux forcés à perpétuité, the. Bagne de Toulon's branding, my uncle went there." She explained. "So, how did you escape?"

"I," Jacques felt his heart racing as fear overcame him, sweating despite the chill in the nighttime air. "I have done no such thing, I must go home, goodbye."

"Wait-" Patience spoke, unable to stop him as he left in a hurry. She shook her head, knowing that she shouldn't have spoken. 

He panted, walking quickly as the sun began to set over the treeline. The roads were empty, the air silent and chilling as Jacques walked faster. He felt as if someone was following him even though he was alone like he was being chased and looked for. Sweat and tears dripped down his face as his past caught up to him, the overwhelming emotions he hadn't felt since leaving the Bagne made Jacques cry, struggling to continue walking in his shaken state. Everything dead and gone felt like some sort of demon possessing his mind. Never had he felt such guilt, why did he feel guilt? Was it because of that woman's fear of him? Her shaking hands and scared expression haunted him.

He was a monster to the world. 

Jacques returned home, catching his breath as he hunched over in the doorway to cry to himself. His shaken hands covered his face, sniffling and sobbing as he sat on the floor. Never had he cried before, not in the longest time. The last time he could remember crying was when he was sentenced to Hell on Earth at just ten years old. As his sobs silenced, he heard a small noise across the darkroom. The moonlight through the window reflected onto his small daughter's face. She had just been born in early January, the five-month-old had learned to crawl a week ago. She didn't seem to stop ever since.

"Hey." Jacques chuckled lightly, wiping his face with his palms. "Why are you out of your crib?" he questioned. Elise looked up at him with her big blue eyes, before grasping his nose with her itty bitty hands. Jacques had a brief chuckle at his daughter before he rose to his feet. Holding her in his arms. Jacques gently pet Elise's small curls, watching a sleepy expression form on her face. He gently laid Elise in her crib at the foot of their bed, tucking her in before leaning forward to kiss her head. 

Elise fluttered her small eyes until they shut, falling asleep. Jacques tenderly slid the blanket over her. Hearing a quiet giggle, glancing up to see Aurelie watching him.

"You're so sweet." She said.

Jacques's face flushed, walking to the side of the bed and laying by Aurelie. He took her hand, kissing her on the lips softly. "You should rest, it's late."

"Why were you home so late?" Aurelie questioned.

He explained the situation honestly and quietly, not wanting to wake the baby or Aimon. By the end of it, Aurelie had fallen asleep, leaned on Jacques' broad shoulder. Jacques looked at her to make sure she was asleep, laying back afterward and staring up blankly at the ceiling. Thoughts seemed to race in his mind, thoughts of anger and pity. The two emotions conflicted themselves heavily, one side of Jacques hated the world, he hated society for what they did to him, throwing him away like mud on the street. While the other side seemed to pity the people to who he brought fear, he didn't want to be a monster, Jacques didn't want to scare anyone. After all those years in the Toulon, he didn't know who he was anymore.

A couple of miles away, Abraham laid in his bed. Having trouble sleeping due to the pain in his back, no matter how hard he squeezed his eyes, his effort remained purposeless. 

By eight AM, Abraham still hadn't slept. He could hear down the hallway as someone entered the home, likely one of the servants. His restless night seemed to worsen his pain, desperately needing to sleep. Abraham watched his bedroom door creak open, the familiar large frame of Jacques in the doorway. 

"Are you awake?" He asked.

Abraham nodded, keeping his eye on Jacques as he walked over, sitting in the chair that remained by his bed. Abraham looked at the book in Jacques's hands. "What is that?" 

"Ah, Hannibal said you'd probably like it," Jacques muttered. "It's called Aesop's Fabels, children's book."

"You're going to read to me?" Abraham sounded excited.

"Well, you asked so nicely yesterday, how could I not?"

Abraham smiled softly as Jacques began to read from the book, their reading sessions became daily as Abraham regained his strength. Jacques felt pride in himself for the first time in a long while, knowing he made the boy feel better brought a sense of joy. Happiness. 

July 10th, 1762

Nearly having made full recovery, the scarred Abraham looked at his unbandaged face in the mirror. His mother stood next to him, her hands on his shoulders as they both looked into the reflection.

"You're still a very handsome boy," Alice spoke, softly kissing his forehead.

Abraham looked to the floor sadly, the scar under his left eye, and the one across his forehead was an unpleasant sight to the young boy. Not to mention the dozen on his chest and back. He was ugly.

"I have a gift for you." Alice said, putting her hand under his chin and lifting his head up. "do not pout, I will be right back."

He watched her leave the room, picking up his pot of rouge from off the floor. He dipped his hand into the pot, having stolen it from his sister's bedroom. Abraham rubbed the rouge from the corner of his eyes to the corner of his lips, it did not make much of a difference due to his already pink-toned skin. But it did hide the scars... somewhat. He shoved the pot back behind his mirror as his mother reentered the room, holding a brown box. 

"What is that?" Abraham approached her.

"Consider it an early birthday gift," Alice replied.

Abraham cautiously took the box, examining the outside of it before setting it onto his desk. "May I open it?"

Alice chuckled softly. "if you want to."

He opened the box with great care, looking at the object inside. It looked almost like a spider web, but it was made of wood and string. With a feather attached to its center. It was beautiful, but Abraham wasn't sure what it was. 

"It's called a dream catcher, my mother made it for me before I married your father." She explained, seeing her son's confused face.

"what does it do?"

Alice glanced at him, meeting eyes with her son and smiling. "well, it does what it's called. Catch dreams."

"So I won't dream anymore?" Abraham asked, lifting the dreamcatcher. 

She laughed. "No, no you'll still have dreams, Abraham." She pet his hair, "But only the good ones."

Abraham smiled subtlety, looking at the dreamcatcher in his hands. "It's beautiful, thank you, mama." He said.

Alice pulled Abraham into a hug, she worried she wouldn't be around much longer. She didn't want her children's last memories of her to be miserable, bedridden, and depressed. Even if she felt as if she would collapse if she stood too long. Alice kissed her son's face repetitively, making him giggle.

"Mama!" He squirmed from her embrace, looking back at her after he freed himself. "I adore it, mama, I will cherish it forever I promise," he said.

She helped Abraham hang the dreamcatcher over his bed that same evening, smiling proudly at her son as he admired it once it was on the wall. Despite it being almost thirty years old, the dreamcatcher was still strong and well crafted due to her mother's skill. Alice missed her parents deeply but knew she would be gone soon. Hoping to reunite with them somewhere, someday. 

July 11th, 1762

Jacques came to visit as usual and saw Abraham out of bed and sat at his desk.

"Well look at you." Jacques chuckled, leaning on the wall. "Feeling better?"

Abraham looked at him. "A little." He said, setting his papers aside. "I was writing poetry."

Jacques raised an eyebrow, "You write?" He asked.

He nodded. "Sometimes, it's just. A dumb little hobby of mine." Stated Abraham. "I still can't see very well, but the doctor promises the bandages will come off within the next few weeks." He stood up, wincing slightly as he did.

Jacques walked over to help him stand. "Do you still need me to read to you?"

"Well. I'd like if we finished the book together.." Abraham said quietly. "B-but! You do not have to!"

He smiled. "I don't mind at all, I would love to finish reading the book to you. Will be the first book I've ever read."

"Really?" Abraham asked. "How could you have gone through life without books? I've read at least fifty books."

"Oh really?" Jacques said. "What's your favorite book?"

Abraham pondered for a moment before he replied. "Probably Gulliver's Travels."

He nodded, sitting at Abraham's desk and setting the book down onto it. "Never heard of it."

"You must've lived under a rock your entire life." Abraham laughed.

Jacques hummed as he flipped to find the page they left off on, "I suppose you could call it a rock. But it was more of a dock for boats." He said. "Not a rock for boats."

"What?" Abraham asked.

"Nothing, nothing. Oh look, here we were." Jacques changed the topic. "We only have a few parts left, then the books done. We may finish it today."

Abraham stood next to Jacques, despite the fact that Jacques was sitting and Abraham was standing. Jacques was still bigger than Abraham. Abraham looked at the pages as the massive man read to him, quietly listening.

Within the next few hours, Jacques finished the book. Shutting it and looking at Abraham, Abraham smiled.

"Thank you for.. using up so much time on my happiness." Abraham thanked Jacques.

The man smiled. "I wouldn't want to use it on anything else." He told him. "Now, you get to bed." Jacques rose from his seat, picking Abraham up under the armpits and carrying him to his bed.

Abraham grumbled once picked up. "it is not even dark out yet!" he stated. 

"Little boys like you should go to bed before dark," Jacques replied, finding humor in Abraham's frustrated expression as he tightly tucked him in. "Goodnight, friend."

"We're friends?" 

"Goodnight Abraham." Jacques quickly said, getting up to leave.

"WE CAN BE FRIENDS IF YOU'D LIKE MR. JACQUES!" Abraham yelled as Jacques went out the door.

"GOODNIGHT!'


End file.
